


Etincelles

by witchelmm



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Bottom Jason, Consensual Underage Sex, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Jason just wants to be friends, M/M, Percy is a jealous shit, Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, i said the smut was vague dont read this if ya thirsty, percy is always pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 101,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7641562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchelmm/pseuds/witchelmm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Jacksons are an ancient Gryffindor family, rumoured to go back to one of the very first Gryffindor students. Of course, there are those that diverge, but they are talked over in family stories, and while not shunned, they are certainly not remembered.<br/>Percy Jackson's pureblood father left when he was too young to remember anything but a faint smile. All Percy's mother will tell him about his father are these three things: he loved her, the sea, and Gryffindor more than anything in the world.<br/>Perhaps, Percy thinks, he might attract his father back to him by taking his given right to Gryffindor and using it to its fullest.<br/>Perhaps, Percy thinks, this could've happened before the sorting hat was placed on his head and yelled very certainly, "SLYTHERIN!"<br/>Perhaps, Percy thinks, this could've happened before Golden Boy Jason Grace became the face of Gryffindor and did everything that Percy should've done.<br/>It's all their mutual friends can do to convince Percy not to murder the boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

            Rachel grinned as Dumbledore finished his speech, showing off constellations of freckles across her cheekbones as applause rang out around the pair in the Great Hall, echoing the look on her face a thousand times over.

            Percy was having the worst day of his life.

-

            All right, let’s backtrack.

            Perseus Jackson, eleven years old and quite admittedly terrified, was seated in the most corner-like compartment of the Hogwarts Express that he could find; his bag plopped beside him and his knees drawn loosely to his chest. This was before anything went entirely wrong.

            Of course, things had gone wrong during shopping a week or so before, but Percy had been willing to forget about that in hopes that his school experience would be better. …Really, though, who would forget the look of confusion upon Ollivander’s (the great wand-maker himself) face as he found Percy’s wand: cheery, sandy-gold colored wood, long—almost uncomfortably so—and, most disgustingly, carved with a very clear snake winding its way around the handle.

Ollivander’s expression told the situation perfectly: Percy Jackson, son of one of the eldest Gryffindor families, receiving such a… _not_ Gryffindor wand.

He had felt his mother’s hand tighten on his shoulder, but she had smiled brightly, told him she was so glad (so proud, so excited), as she was that type of most perfect person, and they’d gone to Madam Malkin’s.

            Now, on the train, alone with the loud, rhythmic clicking and chugging of the Express and his thoughts, Percy mulled over, for the hundredth time, what Ollivander had said about Percy’s wand.

            _“Cypress wood, fourteen inches long, Squppi scale core, and—ah, quite brittle.”_

            Percy couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach, looking at the wand when it had chosen him. Granted, now the feeling had lessoned some, but the memory still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

            The snake guarding the handle of the wand, who’s small, delicately carved head rested above the tip of Percy’s thumb when the wand was gripped, looked docile, almost sleeping. It had no fangs, only large, curious wooden eyes. Percy stared into the dark eyes of the detested snake for a second before making a quiet disgusted sound in the back of his throat and pushing his wand deeper into his pocket.

            He leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes.

-

            Percy woke to the doors of his compartment sliding open and a girl’s voice saying, “Can I stay here?”

            His brain kicked into action with an embarrassing, strangled sound leaping from his mouth as he sat up and frantically tried to make it look as if _no,_ he had _not_ just fallen forward on his face, asleep, on a train.

            Percy’s eyes focused to find the girl staring at him. She stood in the doorway, wearing completely normal muggle clothing that made Percy miss home just looking at them. (Really, how was he supposed to survive until Christmas holiday?)

            She had a black messenger bag over her shoulder, and a grey sweatshirt that said (the best that Percy could make out on the wrinkled fabric while she moved energetically) _The_ _Hampshire School, Chelsea._ She was wearing jeans, which made Percy remember his own stiff black dress pants in distaste.

            Curly, blonde, princess-like hair dropped over her shoulders, and her skin was tan enough to make her look like an American.

            As Percy gaped, not sure what to say, the girl’s intense grey eyes assessed him.

            “Hi?” she said, after Percy went another thirty seconds without saying anything.

            When Percy managed to clear his throat and say, “Uh, yeah, hi,” the girl shrugged.

            “Look,” she said, “I can leave if you don’t want anyone to sit with you. S’just I used to be up near the front until some stupid twats moved into my compartment. And I’m feeling remorseful today, so I left.”

            Percy said, “Oh.” He then thought of a million other, more clever things he could’ve said.

            The girl took that as an invitation and put her bag next to her on the seat across from Percy as she sat down.

            “Anyway,” she said, professional once again, and extending a hand, “I’m Annabeth Chase.”

            Percy shook her hand. “Percy.” Then he added, “Jackson.”

            Annabeth Chase nodded, there were a few seconds of silence as she dropped Percy’s hand, and then she said, “You know, you drool when you sleep.”

            Percy wiped his mouth, and by this point could imagine that he had flushed. He didn’t quite know how to respond to what Annabeth had just said, so he settled for, “Yeah. I knew that. Sorry.”

            Annabeth then said, “Are you _Welsh_?”

            Percy was now completely sure that he’d gone red. He managed another, “Yeah,” quickly tacking on, “Problem?”

            Annabeth shook her head vigorously. “No! I just…” she trailed off, pausing. “Your voice.”

            “You’re leaking London,” Percy commented.

            Annabeth grinned slightly. “Even I can hear it, yeah.” She shifted slightly in her seat after a few seconds of silence, before adding, “I just wanted to make sure… because there aren’t that many Welsh wizards, you know.”

            Percy shrugged. “I live with mostly muggles. So, no, I don’t know.”

            Annabeth wrinkled her nose. “Where _do_ you live? London’s crawling with muggles, but there’s still plenty of wizards.”

            Now, when you live in a town barely tipping fifteen hundred people, it’s never wise to give out the name of said town. But Annabeth didn’t look anything close to the malicious type (besides her rather terrifying eyes).

            “Llaneilian,” Percy said.

            Annabeth looked confused. Percy added, “In Ynys Môn.”

            Annabeth continued to look like Percy was just sneezing random Welsh words into her face. He sighed and tried to clarify, “Anglesey.”

            Annabeth nodded slowly, as if she were trying to trick Percy into thinking she understood. Percy responded with an unsurprised, “Whatever.”

            “Sorry,” Annabeth said. Then she smiled. “But I don’t think this is the first time someone’s said they’ve never heard of it.”

            Percy laughed. “Not nearly.”

            The train turned between some tree-shaded hills in Scottish farmland, drawing shadows down through the windows. Percy couldn’t quite catch what animal was grazing before the entire window turned towards the edge of a forest on the other side.

            “Well,” Annabeth said, settling back into her seat and finally letting go of the rope to her messenger bag. Any awkwardness had been broken. “Trolley’s coming soon. Wake me up, yeah?”

            Percy was sure he nodded, but before long his forehead was back up against the window, and everything went away.

-

            “Percy.”

            Percy only half-registered the hand shaking his shoulder.

            More insistently, “ _Percy!_ Percy Jackson! Percy, we’re here.”

            Percy was now awake. When he finally remembered where he was, he saw Annabeth in front of him, now wearing her robes and shouldering her bag again.

            Percy dragged his hand across his cheek groggily before noticing that the carriage was seemingly empty, and he shot up. Annabeth gripped the end of Percy’s sleeve before starting to tug him towards the exit.

            “They said we had two minutes,” Annabeth explained. Percy was tripping over his too-long robes behind her and cursing so godlessly he was actually a little glad the train was empty.

            They stumbled out of the carriage. The air was chilled, and only grew worse when Percy and Annabeth joined the back of a throng of students, maybe fifty or sixty children around Percy’s same age.

            The express made various train-ish noises, finally letting out its hooting whistles and pulling away from the station.

            The sky it left behind was a gradient of navy to scarlet; instead of marring it, the smoke added to it, something that shouldn’t have been beautiful but was. Percy was busy taking in the view when someone pushed him forward.

            A deep, gruff voice from behind him said, “Ah! Sorry, I always forget yeh young ones fly all ‘bout.” Percy was picked gently back up by the hood of his robes and set right. He turned around to face his accidental offender, who turned out to be an enormous man with a fluffy dark beard mixed with furs and bits and pieces of leather. He was more than twice Percy’s height, and although Percy had always known that such giant people existed, he had been raised by one witch in a community of muggles and thus had never seen one in the flesh. He was now quite startled.

            “Yeh’re Perseus Jackson?” The huge man asked, either ignoring or not noticing Percy’s obvious surprise.

            “Y-yeah,” Percy said. “And…” he pointed over to Annabeth, who was weaving her way to the front of the group of kids expertly. He almost lost her except for her honey-blonde hair. “And that’s Annabeth Chase.”

            The man smiled brightly, cheeks bright with cheer or cold, Percy couldn’t tell. “Well, you two were the last of ‘em.” He picked up a gigantic lantern from beside his even more gigantic boots. “Means we can start goin’ in.”

            The man shouted (or, not shouted, as his normal speech was loud enough), “First years, ter the lake!”

            The crowd started to move, the man moving to the front, and Percy still stuck at the back. Within a few seconds, Annabeth had dropped back beside him again.

            “Don’t know anyone else, do you?” she asked.

            Percy shook his head. “No. Never even seen anyone before. Guess you were right.”

            Annabeth smiled, but Percy could barely see her in the dying light. “I don’t want to say I _always_ am, but…” she was cut off by their combined laughter.

            She shrugged, still talking as they walked. “I know a few people, but none very well.”

            “Who?”

            Annabeth gestured vaguely in front of them. “Up there. Blond hair. Name’s Jason, I think. His mum is friends with my father, but I don’t think he has one.”

            Percy simply responded with, “Oh,” because none of that meant anything useful to him, besides the boy’s name.

            They stopped talking, of the lack of Welsh wizards or otherwise, when the cobblestone under their feet turned to crunchy, rocky sand, and Percy felt water seeping into the hems of his robes that dragged below his feet, weighing them down.

            The creaking of old, waterlogged wood drew Percy’s attention to the boats floating across the lake in front of him, their forms barely illuminated by the cast-off lighting from the massive castle that Percy knew to be Hogwarts.

            Annabeth took hold of the edge of Percy’s sleeve again. “You’re going with me,” she said, and Percy didn’t bother to say otherwise. Annabeth brought them both through the crowd again with that weaving talent of hers, until they were the first children standing on the shore of the lake.

            The large man with the lantern from earlier told them that the boats would take them to the entrance to Hogwarts and instructed them in how to climb into the boats safely. A few moments later, Percy, Annabeth, and a few kids Percy didn’t quite catch the names of were in a small self-rowed boat, headed across the enormous lake in front of Hogwarts castle.

            It was on this boat that Percy realized that he had forgotten all his belongings on the Hogwarts Express, which was now a good twenty minutes away from Hogsmeade station. Not really knowing anything useful to do, he turned to Annabeth, who seemed to be a very clever, responsible type of person.

            Very panicked, Percy said, “I’ve left all my things on the train.”

            Annabeth barely glanced up at him from where she had been looking: the shimmery water below the boats that only grew more reflective as they neared the castle. “No, you haven’t,” she dismissed. Tacking on an explanation, she said, “I put them all in my bag.”

            Percy turned his attention to the limp, unassuming, and rather unimpressive black messenger bag that Annabeth had had within reaching distance ever since Percy first saw her. He pointed to it, saying, “ _That_ one?”

            Annabeth snatched up her bag, sending Percy a hurt glance. “Yes, this one.” She hugged the bag to her chest, explaining, “It’s magic, gift from my mum. S’got unlimited space.”

            “Don’t you lose things in it, then?”

            Annabeth shook her head. “If I want something I’ve put in there, I’ve just got to think about it, and it’ll be the first thing I pull out.”

            “Lush.”

            Annabeth looked at him again, strangely, almost smiling with amusement the way people do when they see a particularly adorable crippled bat at the zoo, and shook her head, turning back to the water.

-

            Percy hadn’t even entered the majority of Hogwarts, and he was already intimidated. He was standing in what he guessed could be called the entrance hall, although it stretched out magnificently to either end and up to an invisible ceiling, eyes flitting between the portraits on the wall that were talking to each other in pleasant conversation. (This came as no surprise to him, as he lived in a household where it was commonplace for him to talk to the portrait of his great-great-grandmother over their mantle, and still quite commonplace for her to respond.)

            He was even more intimidated when a tall, dark-haired woman entered from the right corridor.

            “Hagrid, all first years are present, yes?” she asked upon entering. Her long, emerald-green robes stopped billowing as she came to a halt, but she was still quietly impressive without them. Percy suddenly had the thought that she would be a very, very bad person to make angry. (It was akin to the feeling he got from Annabeth, but to a stronger degree.)

            “A’course, Professor McGonagall,” the large man—Percy now knew his name was Hagrid—answered. “Wouldn’ want ‘em ter get lost.”

            Professor McGonagall smiled tightly as she straightened her spectacles—not like she was angry with Hagrid, per se, more like she was just quite stressed. Percy understood the feeling.

            “No, we wouldn’t,” she said. Then she turned to the group of first years. “I’ll take you all from here, follow me.”

            Professor McGonagall led them to a corridor going past what Percy guessed was the dining hall, as voices leaked out, although Percy couldn’t quite catch and individual conversation. She took them to a room off the corridor, where they all crowded together. Percy could feel the electric crackle of nerves in the air.

            “Welcome to Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall said, her voice completely business-like. She continued, “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting ceremony is very important because while you are here at Hogwarts, your house will something like a family to you. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your designated dormitory and have free time in your house’s common room.”

            Percy’s mother had already told him about the houses at Hogwarts—how could she not? There was at least one piece of Gryffindor paraphernalia in every room of his home, including his own bedroom. His nerves decreased quite a lot when he remembered that every diviner in his family that had ever done a reading for him (either a silly one late at night on Christmas eve or otherwise) had told him _Gryffindor, yes, certainly, without a single doubt._

            “The four houses,” Professor McGonagall went on, “are called Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. All four have noble history”— _but_ , Percy thought, _Gryffindor is clearly the best_ —“and have produced outstanding witches and wizards.”

            She looked over the group, as if trying to find which one of them would be outstanding. Percy suddenly felt very small.

            Professor McGonagall stopped peering and started talking again, “Your successes will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will detract them. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will act as a positive addition to whatever house becomes yours.”

            “In a few short minutes,” McGonagall said, sweeping her eyes over the room again, “I will return for you to start the ceremony.” Her eyes stopped on Percy’s disheveled hair and the small puddle of muddy lake water that was starting to form, dripping off the edges of his robes, around his scuffed shoes. She sniffed. “I suggest you all try to tidy yourselves up before then. Please do so quietly and then wait without making too much disturbance.”

            She left the room, and nervous tittering immediately broke out among the new students.

            Percy caught snippets of conversation as Annabeth tried to straighten his hair (to Percy’s request), including:

            “ _I heard it’s a huge test, and if you get any of the questions wrong, you get expelled._ ”

            Percy’s heart seized at the thought. He was never one to read, nor one to study, and no one had bothered to tell him about any sort of test.

            “ _No, my brother told me that if you can’t perform any spells, you can’t have a house._ ”

            Percy had never cast a real spell. He’d done a few tricks before, on accident, but most of them including stupid, useless things like making lights flicker, or controlling glasses of water with his eye movements.

            “They’re all wrong,” Annabeth murmured. Her robe sleeves formed a dark sort of curtain around the pair as she tried in vain to fix Percy’s hair, framing her own fair hair and determined face. The removal of all physical distractions calmed him, and he focused on Annabeth’s soft voice as she continued, “The Sorting Hat looks into your mind, and it finds which house would be best for you. It’s all very easy. At least, that’s what _Hogwarts: A History_ says. And my dad agrees.”

            Percy managed, “What house do you think you’ll be in?”

            Annabeth shrugged. She glared resentfully at Percy’s nonexistent part before answering. “I don’t know. My mum’s a Ravenclaw, but it’s not really genetic—although a lot of people say it is. And my father, he’s a Hufflepuff, but he’s right clever.”

            Annabeth sighed, finally giving up on Percy’s hopeless hair. She muttered, “ _Whatever_ ,” before continuing, louder, “So, what about you?”

            “Gryffindor,” Percy answered, without missing a beat.

            Annabeth raised one sarcastic eyebrow. “Rather sure of yourself.”

            Percy gave his first eye-roll to Annabeth, meaning he was officially feeling less nervous. “Yeah, I am.”

            Annabeth nodded, breaking out into a grin. “Definitely Gryffindor.”

            The conversation was broken—as was every other one in the room—when the door opened silently but suddenly.

            “Form a line, form a line,” Professor McGonagall said, entering the cramped room again. “The Sorting ceremony’s about to start.”

            Percy almost didn’t feel nervous at all, which was very odd for him. He guessed his calmness was a combination of Annabeth—who just seemed to unexplainably _click_ with him—being near, and the fact of _Gryffindor, yes, certainly, without a single doubt._ It replayed in his head like a chant as McGonagall led him with all the other first years out of the room, down the corridor, across the entrance hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

            The first thing that Percy noticed was the gold. There were five long wooden tables in the great hall, four put together vertically (if the bottom of the picture was Percy’s point of view), with a horizontal one stretched across the top. He guessed the top one was the staff table, as it was filled with adults, whereas the other tables were close to brimming with kids and teenagers. There were a smattering of empty places at four of the five tables, but every single person was set with glittering gold plates and goblets.

            Maybe it was just the purely magical atmosphere of the place, but the bright gold seemed to put dancing, smarting spots in the edges of Percy’s vision.

            Thousands of candles filled the air above the tables, a good many meters up, but not high enough to touch the ceiling.

            In fact, Percy wasn’t sure there _was_ a ceiling. If he looked up, past the floating candles, there was nothing but the night sky. Maybe it was painted, maybe it was glass, maybe it was enchanted. He’d have to ask Annabeth later, although he wasn’t certain that even she would know.

            Professor McGonagall led Percy and the other new students to the front of the hall, so the staff table was behind them and they faced the students.

            This prolonged, silent, awkward staring was something Percy detested, so he simply decided to close his eyes. He prayed it would be over soon enough, and he could just sit down at the Gryffindor table. Or, better yet, go to sleep.

            He opened his eyes when the setting of something upon the stone interrupted the silence of the hall. It was a plain, four-legged wooden stool that McGonagall was in the middle of placing a ghastly looking witch’s hat upon. It was ripped in some places and sewed over in such a way that it looked like unhealed stitches, covered in patches, frayed, and looked to be one-fifth fabric and four-fifths grime.

            At least it would cover his hair.

            There was silence in the hall.

            Then the hat began to sing.

            One of the rips near the bottom opened like a mouth, and words came out of it, set to a jaunty tune:

            “ _Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,_

_but don’t judge on what you see,_

_I’ll eat myself_

_if you can find_

_a smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_your top hats sleek and tall,_

_for I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_and I can cap them all._

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_where dwell the brave at heart._

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry set Gryffindors apart._

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_where they are just and loyal._

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil._

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_if you’ve a ready mind,_

_where those of wit and learning,_

_will always find their kind._

_Or perhaps in Slytherin,_

_you’ll make your real friends._

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_to achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don’t be afraid!_

_And don’t get in a flap!_

_You’re in safe hands,_

_though I have none,_

_for I’m a thinking cap_!”

Applause immediately filled the Great Hall when the hat had finished. It bowed its pointy tip in thanks, it’s torn mouth grinning madly. Then, as it had been before, it went completely still.

Annabeth tapped Percy’s hand through his sleeve. “You ready?” she whispered.

Percy nodded; he would’ve even if he hadn’t felt ready. “You?”

Annabeth shrugged. “All four seem good. But you’ll be in Gryffindor. I’m not quite sure if I’ll be cross with any of them.”

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, and the pair fell silent. She stepped forward holding a roll of parchment.

“When your name is called,” she said, “you are to sit on the stool and put on the hat to be sorted. Able, Thomas!”

The sorting hat shouted “ _HUFFLEPUFF!”_ for Thomas Able, and after the first student was sorted and was accepted by his table with cheers and clapping, the nervousness level of the room seemed to drop significantly.

The list rolled on for a while, until, “Chase, Annabeth!”

Annabeth squeezed Percy’s hand through his sleeve for less than a second before going to take her place on the stool.

There was silence.

One second, five seconds, ten seconds. Percy saw Annabeth squirm in her seat. More silence. However, no murmuring broke out. It was like the entire hall was holding its breath.

Finally, since he and the other first years were so close, Percy caught the hat mutter, _‘I’ll go with’_ followed immediately by a booming shout of _“RAVENCLAW!”_

Annabeth lifted the hat off of her head, and when Percy saw her face, she was grinning brightly. She went to go take her seat among the other Ravenclaw students, and when she sat down, she flashed Percy a quick double thumbs up.

More names blurred by, a few Ravenclaws, a few Hufflepuffs, even a couple of Slytherins. The Gryffindor table on the far left was starting to look bored.

Then, “Grace, Jason!”

The blond boy that Annabeth had pointed out to Percy earlier stepped forward without a second to lose, his expression slightly nervous, if not unreadable. He sat on the stool, hardly wavering like the other students had been. In fact, he was completely still.

The sorting hat had hardly touched the highest reaching bit of Jason’s pale hair when it gave a great cackle and bellowed, _“GRYFFINDOR!”_

The previously listless Gryffindor table erupted with whoops and cheers, and Jason Grace quickly went to join them.

Percy felt a twinge of jealousy—he had wanted to be the first new Gryffindor—but he couldn’t possibly, since ‘J’ was practically in the middle of the alphabet.

No more than two minutes later, Professor McGonagall called, “Jackson, Perseus!”

Percy went to take his seat on the stool, and when the hat was on his head, it slipped over his eyes.

The now tiny voice of the hat began to speak in his ear, and Percy was sure he was the only one who could hear it.

“ _Ah,_ ” said the hat, “ _I didn’t want to assume_ which _Jackson family, but it seems you’ve got strong Gryffindor blood, of the very same._ ”

Percy couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

“ _But,_ ” the hat added, “ _do you have a Gryffindor heart?”_

Percy tensed on the stool. He was aware by now that he was taking a very long time.

The hat continued in Percy’s hear, “ _Let’s see, let’s see… quite brave, yes, very nice. Loyal, kind, and not dull, either. But where do you best belong?”_ The hat tutted before continuing quietly, “ _Oh, here we go. I spy, with my little mental eye, cunning, a need for true friendship, loyalty to a fault. Ambition. Oh, Jackson, you’ve got a hunger. I think we both know what that means.”_

They both most definitely _did_ know what that meant, and Percy’s blood seemed to freeze.

 _Please,_ he thought in his head, but he didn’t know what to say. Obviously the hat had its mind made up.

“ _Please what? Don’t tell me you don’t want this. You’d be one of the greatest of your year! You don’t want me to put you where you don’t belong, do you?”_

Percy almost answered, _yes, yes I do,_ but that would be admitting that he didn’t belong in Gryffindor.

 _“So you admit it,”_ the hat whispered. Percy flinched. He had forgotten that the hat could hear his thoughts. _“You’re not exactly the Gryffindor type of Jackson, are you?”_

That was by far the worst thing the hat could’ve said. Percy felt his eyes prick.

_“Oh, but you’re strong, boy. You have nothing to fear now. There will be things, later, where you will have many more reasons to cry. You are strong, but Slytherin will make you even stronger. You’ll thank me then.”_

There was nothing Percy could do to stop it, his tears or the hat. The hat said, _“I’ll give you a moment,”_ and it almost sounded like it was chuckling. When Percy had finally stopped crying, and he was sure that when the hat lifted he would look as fine as ever, the hat said, _“there we go. So, it’s decided.”_ There was a pause, followed by the hat shouting, _“SLYTHERIN!”_

There was silence in the hall for a few seconds, as Percy had just taken three minutes to get sorted, the longest out of the previously sorted first years by far. Then, he heard a few claps ring out, gradually joined by more, mostly coming from his right side. The hat was lifted from his head; he blinked even in the dim light of the Great Hall, and made his way, his mouth tasting of phlegm and disgust, to the Slytherin table.

Head down, he put two clenched fists in his lap, and tried not to look at any members of his new “family”.

-

            The Sorting ceremony went by in a blur after that, as Percy wasn’t really paying attention: his head down, occasionally muttering curses (the non magical kind) at himself or at the hat, with a few people asking now and then if he was alright, but giving up when he didn’t answer after their few attempts.

            At last, when the ceremony had finished, Albus Dumbledore, headmaster (because Percy had most definitely heard of him) got to his feet and spread his arms, looking out over the students and beaming.

            “Welcome, welcome, to another year at Hogwarts! And to a few of you, welcome to your first! Let’s begin our banquet!”

            Food appeared, filling the serving plates and pitchers in front of the students, and although Percy was starving, the last thing he needed right now was that his comfort food was nowhere to be seen. (Rather unsurprisingly, he would admit), none of the food on the table was blue.

            Percy didn’t put anything on his plate, only filled his goblet with pumpkin juice and nursed it throughout the entire meal. Even that tasted like liquid lead. Again, a few people asked if he wasn’t feeling well, but this time he answered by waving them off. Thankfully, the people that asked either didn’t care, or didn’t see through his flimsy, “I’m fine.”

            Eventually, the girl that used to be sitting next to him—a third year that was looking rather uncomfortable by the personification of storm clouds brooding right next to her—moved a few seats down and was replaced by a red-haired girl that Percy recognized from his boat.

            “You were right chipper earlier,” she commented. Her voice was softly Irish. “I remember from the boats. You wouldn’t shut up.”

            Percy scowled at her. She just regarded him coolly, and didn’t back off, which is what Percy normally achieved with his glare. Instead, she said, “What’s got your wand in a knot?”

            “Piss off,” Percy said, trying to turn away from her. She grabbed his shoulder.

            “No,” she said, “really. Is it because you don’t like Slytherin? Because if you need convincing, I can make sure you know it’s not that bad.”

            Percy lowered his voice, because even then, he didn’t want to offend anyone. “Yes,” he hissed, “it _is_ that bad, because my family’s probably going to disown me. Now could you please—piss—off.”

            The girl rolled her eyes. “They’re not going to disown you just for being in Slytherin—well, unless they’re stupid—and I’m not going to leave you alone. You need friends—I saw you with that Ravenclaw girl, but she’s not going to cut it. You need Slytherin friends.”

            Percy snapped, “You can be friends with people outside your house.”

            The girl snorted. “ ‘Course you can. But it’s good to have a friend inside your house.”

            Percy glared at her. “I suppose you’re offering to be that friend?”

            She grinned. “Yeah.” She reached for Percy’s hand, and Percy flinched away before realizing she just wanted to shake. “My name’s Rachel Elizabeth.”

            “Percy,” Percy said.

            Rachel cocked her head. “Thought it was Perseus.” Percy rolled his eyes, and Rachel continued, “But Percy does suit you better. All right, Percy. Stop being a pissbaby. I’ll tell you why being in Slytherin is great later. I don’t think I’ll get through to you quite yet.”

            Percy shook his head, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was feeling better about Rachel. “I don’t think so.”

            Rachel patted Percy’s shoulder so hard it was almost painful. “Well,” she said, “enjoy your…” her eyes strayed down to Percy’s empty plate. “…Food.”

            Rachel went back to eating, and Percy went back to staring at his lap. He made have made a friend, but he still was in _Slytherin._ He still felt absolutely awful.

-

            Percy hadn’t been paying attention to which courses everyone else had been eating, so he jumped when the food all disappeared, the hall fell silent, and Dumbledore started speaking again.

            “Ahem,” Dumbledore said, “just a few more words. Everyone should note, first years especially, that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all students. I have also been asked by our caretaker, mister Filch, to remind you all that no magic should be taking place in the corridors between classes. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house’s team should approach Madam Hooch.” Dumbledore smiled. “And now, before bed, the school song!”

            Dumbledore cast a delicate golden ribbon out of the end of his knobbly wand, creating words floating in the air. They took Percy a few seconds to decipher, and by the time he got the first sentence, the multitude had already started singing. Everyone was at different tunes and speeds, complete disgusting cacophony, but Dumbledore still wiped at his eyes when the last few people had finished.

            “Music,” he simply commented. “Now, off to bed, all of you!”

            He waved his wand in farewell as the students stood up.

            A tall boy, maybe fifteen, with a green badge showing off a large letter _“P”_ said, “First years, over here!” and made conspicuous waving motions. Percy moved towards him.

            “I’m Evan,” the boy said, clearly, painfully Welsh. Percy winced: not only was he giving a bad name to the Jacksons, he made it look like all the Welsh students were Slytherin, too. (He was very eager to see how Rachel would manage to prove to him that Slytherin wasn’t so bad. He wanted _something_ to laugh at.)

            Percy had missed the rest of what Evan had said, but he started following the other Slytherin first years anyway, blocking out Evan’s familiarly accented droning on the way up.

            Percy wondered if he could ask for a house change.

            Percy wondered how terrible he’d feel if he was rejected.

            Percy wondered what his mother would say.

            Percy wondered how Jason Grace felt right then.

            The jealousy was much more than a twinge.

            Percy remembered hearing from Evan at least the Slytherin password: _ivy and bramble_ , and that he was never to give it to anyone. Ever.

            Percy was most certainly going to give the password to Annabeth.

            Percy went to the first year boy’s dorm, and realizing he had no things, simply claimed a bunk and sat down on it. There were a few other boys taking bunks around him, talking and joking, and preparing for sleep, and Percy figured he would ask Annabeth for his belongings back the next day.

            For now, he had to sleep. Unless he couldn’t sleep, then he got to brood.

            Percy sighed, drawing his dark, blackish green curtains around his bed. He needed the privacy and the darkness. He glared at the back of his eyelids.

            He remembered thinking on the train that it couldn’t get any worse than his wand.

 

 

 


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just read the cursed child and... whew. what an... *adventure*. (dont worry no spoilers.) if ya wanna chat about anything from it, hmu here: www.mortaloracle.tumblr.com (thats right i made a fic centric tumblr wowee)

“If it makes you feel any better,” Rachel said, although it was dripping with sarcasm (she wasn’t exactly the comforting type; almost no one in Slytherin was), “I don’t think he really knows what he’s doing in potions.”

            The pair brushed through the door to the potions classroom, an uninterested Snape doing something tedious, like sorting his stash in his back cabinets.

            First year-Slytherins started Mondays with the Gryffindors in potions. This wasn’t new to anyone anymore, it being November. However, most all of the Gryffindors managed to be late to the dungeon _every single time._ Perhaps the only upside to Slytherin is that Percy didn’t have to be afraid of anything in it.

            “Well, yeah,” Percy said. Annabeth had said almost the exact thing to him last night, weekends being basically the only time he could hold a long conversation with her. He was now recycling what she’d told him.

“He’s a strong talker,” Percy said. “He does good in, say, charms.”

            “And transfiguration,” Rachel added. “And Defense Against the Dark Arts, and A History of Magic, and Runes, and Divination, and—”

            Percy shoved her shoulder, not quite laughing. “Shut up!” Then he added, “He’s coming in.”

            Jason was almost always the first Gryffindor to show up, and even before some of the straggling Slytherins. He gave Percy and Rachel a questioning look as Rachel was hastily shushed, taking his seat on the Gryffindor side of the classroom.

            Rachel smiled, but it was impossible to see whether it was just quirky or malicious. Jason smiled back after a second, more genuine. Percy glared at both of them. Rachel then rolled her eyes.

            “He just _smiled_ ,” Rachel muttered, preparing her quill and ink. “You look like he just punched your grandmother.”

            “My grandmother’s dead,” Percy said absently, digging in his own bag for his things.

            “You’re too literal.” Rachel put her notebook on her desk. “Need ink?”

            Percy nodded in defeat. His ink, for the past two months, was always either spoiling prematurely or being nicked. He felt like someone had hexed him, but he couldn’t be bothered to figure out who. Annabeth and Rachel refused to believe that it was Jason. ( _‘It’s just not how he works, trust me, I know him.’ ‘You don’t_ know, _Beth.’)_

Rachel moved her ink to the very edge of her desk, something that Percy couldn’t help but think wasn’t a very wise idea, but he didn’t bother to fix it. Instead, he dipped his quill and started scrawling the answers to the opening few questions on the board.

            In addition his wand and his house, Percy had quickly discovered two things during his first couple of months at Hogwarts.

            One, he had an affinity for water elemental magic, which was altogether useful and cool, but mainly just cemented his Slytherin-ness.

            Two, his best (and favorite) class had instantly become potions. He didn’t like the teacher at all—Snape seemed to know whether he liked or hated kids before they even entered the classroom for the first time. (Even though they both agreed that Jason was a giant prick—unconfirmed on Snape’s end, Percy was guessing—Percy still thought you needed to _see_ Jason being a giant prick before you could believe it. It was an earned title.)

            Regardless of how terrible Snape was, Percy absolutely adored potions. They seemed so convenient, having stored up bottled magic that you could use whenever you wanted. The methodology and symbolism behind the ingredients was both interesting and awesome enough that it was something he and Annabeth could mutually enjoy. And, of course, Percy seemed to be a prodigy. Maybe it was the fact that it had no words, no need for him to talk to anyone else while he did it, but it just came so naturally to Percy to put things together in the right conditions and get a specific result.

            Also, it didn’t hurt that Jason seemed to suck at it, either.

            Once everyone had arrived to class (or, at least enough people had and the class’ time had started), Snape came back from his store—looking as greasy as ever—and tapped the board.

            Jason tucked a rare impolite emotion showing on his face—in this case, boredom—into the palm of his hand and scrunched up closer to his notebook. Percy listened to Snape speaking the words he already knew and felt positively triumphant.

-

            The news spread around the first years—and granted, the upper years too, because this affected most of everyone—in a flash, like wildfire. By the end of the day that it happened, only a few people didn’t know, and they were sure to be ridiculed and filled in (not necessarily in that order).

            The grand news was lightning-quick, but Percy was one of the last ones to hear.

            Annabeth sat down next to him on the corner bench of the middle court, putting down her messenger bag and looking oddly confused when Percy greeted her amiably.

            “You seem rather…” she paused, as if she wasn’t sure what to say without offending Percy. “… _Cheerful_.”

            Now _Percy_ was confused. He nodded. “Yeah.” He then grinned. “Got an ‘E’ on my potions exam.” He now realized that saying it out loud made him sound kind of stupid, and he glanced down. He said, “I’m quite proud, actually.”

            “That explains it.” Annabeth resolved, “You haven’t heard.”

            Percy suddenly felt kind of scared. “…Heard what?”

            Annabeth almost laughed a little at Percy’s newfound tentativeness. “Relax,” she said, “not dangerous. But you will find it horrid.”

            Percy rolled his eyes. “What _is_ it, Annabeth?”

            Annabeth shrugged, short and borderline prim. “Jason Grace has just become Gryffindor’s seeker.” She slipped into a pompous, quoting tone, “ ‘Youngest in a hundred years’, they say, ‘a complete legend’.”

            Percy didn’t quite know what to say, so he settled for making a phlegmy, disgusted sound in the back of his throat. Annabeth glared at him.

            “You can hate him all you want,” she said, “but try not to sound like a dying cat. You know I think it’s annoying.”

            “You do it, too,” Percy defended.

            “Yeah, but not every three seconds. I’m not nearly as bitter as you… over anything.”

            “Touché,” Percy said, although he pronounced it _‘toosh’_. Annabeth gave him a look, but she didn’t correct him.

            The courtyard around them was buzzing, a million thriving distractions, but Percy managed to listen to Annabeth anyway, tossing in responses and replies every so often.

            “But,” Annabeth mused, “first year, really? I was at the quidditch pitch the other day, saw them practicing… he really didn’t seem too good, if you ask me.”

            “Must be, though, if he’s their seeker.”

            _Youngest of the century,_ he added in his head. He scowled, at nothing in particular, seeing that Jason wasn’t there. Jason was always a safe glaring target.

            Percy had really never been interested in quidditch, so there were plenty of other things Jason could’ve done to piss him off, but anything that declared Jason to be the ‘____ of the century’ was pretty terrible.

            Suddenly, Annabeth asked, “D’you think I should try out? I could do it next year. So could you.” She grinned. “I’d beat you every time, though.”

            Percy shrugged. “Maybe? I try not to plan ahead that much.”

            “Figures.” Annabeth shrugged, shouldering her bag and getting ready to go her way. “I think I’ll try next year. You’ll do it with me.”

            Percy just shrugged again.

            Annabeth looked back at him, smiling. “See you around, Percy. Try not to shoot Grace off his broomstick.”

-

            Percy, as time went on, realized that he hated Jason’s guts. Not disliked him, but actually hated him.

            It went beyond the fact that Jason had stolen Percy’s place at Hogwarts, it went beyond the fact that Jason was great at everything he did and Percy had to struggle to be considered ‘passable’, it went beyond the fact that his friends, infuriatingly enough, seemed to find nothing wrong with him at all.

            No, this was all rooted deep within the fact that Jason Grace was a complete and utter twat.

            For one, Jason didn’t really seem to talk to anyone much besides the girl he fancied, Piper, and everyone just… wasn’t worth his time. Or, at least, he acted like it. Annabeth said he was just always bad around people. But Annabeth had already said that Jason was a good talker, so Percy was buying none of it.

            “Talking and making friends are different things, Percy,” Annabeth reminded him, rolling up her essay on the shore of the black lake. It was April of their first year, and so entirely pleasant that they just couldn’t stand to stay inside.

            “I know,” Percy said, “doesn’t change the fact that he’s a smooth, first-year shit that thinks he’s too good for everyone.”

            Annabeth grimaced. “I mean, he kind of _is_ too good for everyone.”

            Percy fell backward over dramatically, casting his arms out and shouting, “Agh, not you, too!”

            Annabeth shrugged, but she was laughing. “You can’t possibly blame me,” she said. “He’s fantastic at everything he does, all the teachers love him, and he’s cute. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed that.”

            Percy said drily, “It all comes down to cute scruffy hair cuts, doesn’t it.”

            Annabeth reached forward to ruffle Percy’s hair, although it didn’t look any different afterward. “If it did,” she said, “I would be irresistibly attracted to you.”

            Percy cracked a half-grin. “ ‘Would be’?”

            “Mm-hm.” Then she considered. “He _does_ have a cute scruffy hair cut, though.”

            Percy muttered, “Perfect.”

-

            Lucky for him, it was ‘perfect’, because Percy happened to make friends with Piper (profession: being the girl Jason fancied) during the end of their first year.

            It was a Thursday when they met. Piper had marched firmly up to Percy in first period potions, stuck out her hand and said, almost as if she’d rehearsed it, “Hi, I’m Piper McLean and my friend is working with someone else today so I need someone else to work with, too.”

            Percy shook her hand, leaving Rachel to whisper, _“Betrayal,”_ in his ear before promptly grinning and going off to find another partner. Unlike Percy, everybody seemed to like Rachel (Rachel seemed to like _people_ ), especially in Slytherin.

            “Percy.”

He had managed to introduce himself to someone without stuttering; that was something new. Piper… wasn’t intimidating. (Not like Jason, not haughty or cold. Percy almost wondered how they could possibly be friends, how she could possibly like him.) She had skin quite a few shades darker his own (like that was difficult), and choppy, chocolate-brown hair cut in such a jagged and blind way that it should’ve looked terrible. But it didn’t.

She smiled when Percy accepted her request, and he almost found it hard to believe that she was eleven. She had a round face, sure, but her eyes—they were multicolored, like stained glass—shone much too old.

Percy changed his original opinion. Piper was slightly intimidating.

-

            The pair instantly clicked.

            They were both horridly sarcastic. Piper was an amazing talker, which made up for Percy’s not only insufficient, but complete lack of skills in that area.

            Piper was willing to joke at her own expense, and Jason’s, and Percy’s. She joked at the expense of her natural comedy. She joked at the expense of teachers. She joked at the expense of the Hogwarts policies. Percy was sure his only real form of exercise was laughing at every comment she made.

            It was the last day of Percy’s first year, and Piper promised to write to both him and Annabeth that summer. Percy knew she probably wouldn’t, though. He could expect a lot of letters from Annabeth.

            Percy wondered why none of them could use a phone, or the Internet. Annabeth said her stepmother would never hear of it. (Her father, however, she had said, would be delighted. He loved all things “muggle”.)

            Percy looked at the emerald green curtains of his bed, at the floating green lights that illuminated the common room, at the portraits of noble Slytherins along the walls. Maybe, he thought, tugging his suitcase along, when he returned, he would hate it less.

-

            The train ride home was entertaining, but not as fun as it could’ve been. Piper had wanted to sit in Percy, Annabeth, and Rachel’s compartment, but had wanted to bring Jason. Before he could stop himself, Percy outright refused.

            Rachel had snickered, saying, _Jason Grace or death._

Percy had responded, _Jason Grace_ is _death._

Percy had forgotten that Jason, who’s expression had changed from confused to offended (and confused) when he heard that, had been standing behind Piper in the door to the compartment. Percy then decided that he really didn’t care.

            Piper had immediately crossed her arms over her chest, simply saying, “Guys.”

            Percy said, “Why can’t he go sit with his Gryffindor friends?”

            Piper snapped, “I _am_ his Gryffindor friend, and I didn’t think you had a problem with that!”

            Jason raised his hand to contribute, nervously putting it down when Annabeth reached out and slapped Percy’s arm (the nearest she could reach that he was standing up and she wasn’t), hissing, “ _Perseus_!”

            Percy scowled at her. He said, “What? I don’t want him in my compartment, s’all.”

            “ _Your_ compartment?” Piper asked incredulously. (Honestly, at this point, Jason looked like he was a second away from civilly tugging Piper’s robes and requesting that they both just go to a different booth.) “Who said it was _your_ compartment? Beth’s the one that saved seats.”

            “ _Sorry_ ,” Percy said curtly, “figure—of— _speech_.”

            Piper rolled her eyes. “That’s not how you meant it.”

            Annabeth said, “Shut up!” to no one in particular, angrily shoving whatever book she decided she’d become too distracted to read back into her bottomless messenger bag.

            Rachel was watching everyone’s exchanges like a tennis match, occasionally offering sarcastic commentary.

            Jason finally stepped forward, although quietly. He tugged on the end of Piper’s shirt and said, “Pipes, maybe we should—”

            Piper whipped around, causing Jason to flinch backward. “No,” she said. Her tone wasn’t harsh with him, but strangely commanding all the same. “ _Percy_ should get his head out of his arse.”

            Percy finally shouldered past Piper and Jason. “I’ll go, then,” he said. He called over his shoulder, “Rach?” because he figured she was the only one he had a chance of getting her to come with him.

            He saw Rachel shrug in his peripheral vision before heading out to walk with him to an empty compartment.

            Percy realized he might have just put two of his only three friends off from him for the summer.

            He sighed, mostly at himself.


	3. Three

It was August twenty-ninth, and Percy had wasted the bigger part of his summer.

            His mother, although he had already known this from Christmas, was nothing less than ecstatic when he’d returned home. He honestly didn’t know why he’d expected her not to be. His mother was the best person in the world, and while the best people probably didn’t love Slytherin house, they most certainly loved their sons.

            Percy’s mother’s name was Sally Jackson. She had streaks of grey in long, wavy brown hair, and she was the human version of everything wonderful in the entire universe.

            The Christmas of first year, when Percy had gotten off the train, his mother had been waiting there, and the first thing she’d done was hug him. She hadn’t asked questions, she hadn’t even said hello. She was there, at the front of the crowd, and suddenly Percy was in her arms, and the next thing he knew they were both in the taxi, headed northwest, headed home.

            Sally didn’t ask any questions until Percy had been home for a solid week. Then, smack-dab in the middle of Christmas holiday, she asked him, “So, how is Slytherin treating you?”

            Percy was silent for a moment. Then he promptly groaned a little. He was sitting on the loveseat in the living room. (The Jacksons had an unusually large house, having inherited it from Sally’s late muggle uncle. The whole thing was dilapidated, and probably haunted, but free, as the utilities ran on magic. So they stayed.) Upon hearing Sally’s question, Percy crumpled himself as far into the corner of the loveseat as he could go and squeezed his eyes shut. Sally laughed, Percy felt her ruffle his hair and the dip of the other cushion as his mother sat down.

            “Love,” she said, and Percy could still hear the smile in her voice, “you never wrote. How was I supposed to know how you were doing?”

            Percy winced. In truth, he hadn’t written because he’d been afraid of his mother’s thoughts on his house. She had sent him letters, none of them questioning his silence, and he’d kept all of them. Still, he was afraid that his one response would be pulling the pin out of the Gryffindor-pride grenade.

            How stupid he’d been.

            He shrugged.

            “I don’t mind, you know,” Sally went on. Tentatively, Percy nodded. “You could have less than no magic in you at all, and I wouldn’t mind.”

            Percy nodded again.

-

            Now, on August twenty-ninth, he lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what he would do now that he hadn’t talked to any of his friends (all three of them) for a full summer.

            This wasn’t the first time he’d wondered this, of course, but it was the most significant, because at that very moment, he heard his mother climb up the stairs.

            “Percy?” Sally asked, quietly knocking on his bedroom door. “An owl just brought this through the kitchen window.”

            She handed him a cream-colored envelope, stuffed to the point where it had to be tied with string, with “PERCY” across the front in the messiest handwriting he’d ever seen (even worse than his own).

            A small “P” was written in the corner where a muggle stamp would normally go. Percy grinned, and ripped off the twine.

            It was a thick packet of photos, ticket stubs, letters, and terrible sketches. The pictures all moved, so it looked like a wreathing mass of tiny limbs at first, but once Percy sorted all through it he saw what it was: maybe a hundred, possibly more, pictures of queues, venues, Piper herself: choppy hair tangled with activity and a lack of care, eyes wide and bright, lens flares and grainy quality making the whole thing look magical, even if it was one of the few pictures that weren’t moving.

            It was all of Piper’s summer, put into a single envelope. So he hadn’t been ignored.

            Percy gathered as many of the letters as he could (the ones that could _tell_ were letters. For some of the stuff he couldn’t tell quite what it was), whether they were written muggle printing paper, parchment, or bits of ripped napkin. He laid them out on his bed while his mother watched in the doorway, trying to sort them by date.

            “I can never read her handwriting,” he muttered, and a moment later Sally had crossed the room and was leaning over his shoulder, pointing to the next date in the order faster than Percy would’ve ever been able to find it.

            “I’ll let you read these first,” she said, standing back up. “Show me them later, if you’d like.”

-

            _26/6/05_

_Percy,_

_Dads on tour, so I cant send anything. jane even made me leave mitch at home, so theres no hope of him secretly flying to you. but I thought Id still write everything down so you could read it later. at least if I remember to send it before you leave for school._

_Weve gone to America, youll never believe how nice (and loud) everyone is here!! Its like that time I told you about when dad played in dublin but worse. There are so many people. Just everywhere. Its mad._

_People are coming into the dressing room now and someone needs my pen. Ill finish this later._

She didn’t. But the words did proceed on countless other sheets. Percy didn’t want to think about how long it would take him to read them all.

            In fact—he glanced at the clock—he probably couldn’t read them all before they had to leave, anyway. Apparently, there was a family of bats living in the mouldy great fireplace, so they couldn’t use it. The closest neighbors (which were a good walk away regardless) had no idea that travel via floo powder was even possible, so that was out of the question.

            That left the five-hour ride to London so they could shop and Percy could get on the express in time. Annabeth would find him doing things so last minute absolutely atrocious, but one, it was the Jackson way, and two, as Percy had said to her before, “You _live_ in London, lay off.”

            Percy glanced down at his half-packed trunk, and for once made a responsible decision: he put the letters and drawings on the end of his bed, and got onto the floor to finish packing. He’d read the rest on the underground.

-

            Percy was asleep before the rental car went over the Menai bridge, woke up for a few trivial minutes while Sally parked the car and they waited for the underground, and then was out again for the rest of his traveling experience. He had no dreams.

-

 

            The Hogwarts Express was a reverse of the year before.

            Annabeth and Rachel were nowhere to be seen in King’s Cross. (Percy thought he might have seen Piper out of the corner of his eyes, but she was riskily close to a head of short pale hair. So Percy had steered away. Regardless, when he had turned to look, he couldn’t find her, anyway.)

            Once on the train, Percy managed to find the compartment with Annabeth and Rachel in it, immediately directing Annabeth to his trunk to save space, and then proceeding to be nearly tackled by Rachel.

            Rachel weighed hardly anything, which still wasn’t good for Percy as he probably weighed less than ‘hardly anything’. She smelled of pine needles and something soft, and she buried her face in Percy’s shoulder as she rubbed bent knuckles painfully hard into his hair.

            “You never wrote!” she cried. Percy could barely slide the compartment door closed behind them. He waited until his mouth wasn’t filled with puffy orange hair to answer.

            “I don’t think you ever gave me your mailing address.”

            Rachel scoffed. “ ‘Course I did. …Didn’t I?”

            Percy shrugged, and Annabeth sniggered from her corner. She hadn’t lost her way of looking at him like he was an adorable crippled bat, although it seemed to have extended to Rachel as well.

            Annabeth didn’t straight-up attack Percy with affection, in fact she barely even looked up from her book except to stuff Percy’s trunk into her messenger bag. However, when she was done, her eyes glued themselves straight back to the page.

            When Percy sat down next to her, though, and had stopped shifting about (which, admittedly, took more time than it would the average person), she wordlessly dropped her head onto his shoulder and leaned quite heavily, still reading.

            Percy didn’t mind, besides the heat rising in his cheeks. He had been planning to go to sleep like he always did to occupy himself on long rides. Now he felt like he wasn’t allowed to move at all.

            The train, after a while, started to move, and there was still no sign of Piper (and, perhaps much more pleasing, no sign of Jason Grace).

            Despite his previously frozen shoulder, the combination of a newly sleeping Rachel, a rhythmically breathing Annabeth, the muted chugging of the express, and the ever-growing steady patter of raindrops against the window meant that Percy stood absolutely no chance. Within the first hour of the journey, he was completely out.

            Percy had discovered a few years previous (he honestly couldn’t remember when) that you had the strangest, most profound thoughts right before you were going to go to sleep. You often didn’t remember them when you woke up, but sometimes you did.

            Percy had the sudden realization that he was in a very rare position: he was happy with where he was going, where he was, and where he had come from. He also had the sudden realization that that feeling was something not to be rushed.

            Unfortunately, rushing was what Percy did best.

-

            When Percy woke up by someone laughing just a little _too_ loud, there was no longer just three people in the compartment.

            By the looks of the sun shining through the window, it was one o’clock in the afternoon, maybe an hour or so later.

            By the looks of the two additions to the compartment, they didn’t think that Percy would have woken up. But he did. And now he was pretty thoroughly pissed.

            Piper (who had deep blue hair, but Percy would have to come back to that later) started with a tentative, “Hi, Percy. You had a good holiday?”

            Percy made it very clear that he was quite angry and that Piper _oh-most-certainly knew why,_ looking her in her church window eyes (no matter how difficult) and responding, “Yeah, I did. You?”

            Piper wavered, glancing down to tug the sleeve of her shirt over her hand, a nervous habit. In that moment, Percy had won. “Mine was great. I hope you got my letters.”

            At this, Percy shifted uncomfortably. This woke up a previously (heavily) sleeping Annabeth, who made a noise of contempt at being lightly shoved off of Percy’s shoulder. She stretched as best she could in the booth, promptly settling back against the edge on her other side, now that Percy’s shoulder had been deemed inhospitable.

            “I did. The tour seemed good.”

            That was how they were talking now: Formal questions. Unassuming adjectives. Percy almost felt sick.

            Piper adjusted her sleeve again, and lifted her head to meet Percy’s eyes and try to apathetically speak. Before she could really get another useless bit of conversation out, Percy interrupted.

            “Alright, stop,” he said. Percy’s voice was sharp. Rachel looked up, owl-like; Annabeth didn’t stir. “What’s _he_ doing here?”

            Piper glanced over at Jason, who looked thoroughly uncomfortable and seemed to be trying to push himself so hard into the side of the booth that he disappeared and was staring a bit too intently at the carpeted floor, with something almost akin to pity.

            “He’s sitting,” Piper answered.

            “I can _see_ that,” Percy said, “but he doesn’t much look like he wants to. Why’d you drag him in here again? Clearly knows what’s good for him.”

            Piper snorted, laughing. (Annabeth still didn’t move.) “Percy,” she said, and she had the nerve to _grin_. Percy saw Rachel fighting very hard to keep a straight face in his peripheral vision as Piper continued, “You’re forty kilos.” She then tacked on, “At best. I’m saying this as your _friend_ who is concerned for your _health_ : don’t make threats.”

            Percy crossed his arms, slamming back into the seat. _This_ , finally, caused Annabeth to startle and wake. Piper was still laughing.

            “Fine,” Percy grumbled, although he doubted anyone heard him. Piper and Rachel had already struck up conversation, and Annabeth was assessing and questioning about what she’d missed. “He can stay. Just don’t screw up.”

            Jason tried to meet Percy’s eyes once, maybe say a greeting. Percy never got to find out because he immediately glared.

            Jason sighed at Percy’s reaction, resigning himself to the corner again. He no longer looked like he was in the mood to talk to anyone else much, either.

-

            “Oh-ho-ho,” Rachel said in some sort of terrible sports commentator impression, “look at ‘im go. Zipping around up there on that broom like there’s no tomorrow.”

            Percy muttered, “He looks like some sort of superhero.”

            The pair was sitting in the Slytherin stands, watching the first quidditch match of the year: Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. It was the first one Percy had attended ever since the first one last year (when he’d decided he didn’t like it), and they’d only gone because Annabeth told them that her friend Malcolm had recently gotten the position of beater.

            “It’s because he _is_ some sort of superhero,” Rachel said. “He was the youngest seeker of the century!”

            Percy made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.

            “Not to mention that glowing complexion, adorable haircut, icy blue eyes and a winning smile—”

            Percy shoved Rachel’s arm. “You need to lay off right now.”

            Rachel laughed. “It’s not my fault he’s a twelve-year-old Roman god. _You_ just need to get over it.”          

            “You know he’s a twat.”

            Rachel argued, “So are you.”

            “Yeah, but I’m _stuck_ with me.”

            “So you choose to hate _him_ instead?”

            There were a few moments of silence—well, not really anything of the sort. The stands all around them were alive with screaming, both boos and cheers.

            Percy then decided. “I’m sick of this.”

            Rachel nodded. “We’re going.”

            Percy didn’t feel too bad, because firstly, he wasn’t sure which tiny, blue-robed fly was Malcolm, and secondly, because Annabeth wouldn’t know that they had left. Also, he was tired of looking at Jason.

            Rachel grabbed his wrist so as not to get lost in the flood of bodies, and together they made their way out of the stands.

-

            There was no one else on the shore of the Black Lake, and that was how Percy liked it. He and Rachel kicked off their shoes, Percy rolled up his pants (mostly because he remembered the last time he had tracked water into the castle) and they waded into the very edge.

            The name fit. The water, at this time of the afternoon, and with such dark skies overhead, was very _black._ Percy wondered if illuminating charms worked underwater.

            “Alright, Jackson,” Rachel called. Her voice carried startlingly loud over the water, breaking the ambience of the waves. (Percy was pretty sure he was in love with the loch.)

            Rachel continued, “Show me some of that element magic you’ve been working on.”

            Percy grinned. If there was any sort of magic he loved as much as potions, it was the elemental magic he’d become privy to. He held his arm and hand out, parallel to the water, palm down. When he flipped his hand back over, a perfect sphere of lake water rested on his palm. They both grinned.

            Percy’s arm was already starting to ache with the effort of keeping the water ball together. Soon after, the ball started to quiver, and then it collapsed, soaking the edge of Percy’s sleeve.

            “I’ve never been able to do anything like that,” Rachel complained. “D’you think it’s just some special form of magic?”

            Percy shrugged. “Maybe. …I’ve always been a good swimmer.”

            Rachel laughed, although Percy hadn’t been trying to be funny.

            “Do you think everyone has their own brand of magic?”

            Percy shrugged again. “I try not to think too much into things like this? Annabeth might know.”

            Rachel just kept pontificating, “Do you think I have one?”

            “ _Rach._ ”

-

            Percy spelled his curtains shut, making sure to test that they stuck. He’d started doing that during April or so of his first year, ever since he realized that Slytherin took the concept of ‘personal loyalty’ _way_ too far.

            They never let anyone in their house be left behind. Which meant that the first person to wake up woke _everyone_ up. They couldn’t afford to let anyone be late.

            If someone was sitting in their bunk looking rather glum, perhaps brooding—one of Percy’s most common activities, especially after encounters with a certain blond—then the rest of Slytherin made it their life mission to find out why said person was unhappy and completely annihilate that reason.

            Percy didn’t want anyone going to that much trouble for him. He found it much more simple to just learn an easy warding charm and to wake up whenever he saw the light of the room turn out—Slytherins left abnormally early for breakfast, anyway. The beauty of his warding charm was that he couldn’t hear the shouting: it kept any sound he made _in_ , and any sound anyone else made _out._

            Percy didn’t make too much noise, except for when he inexplicably felt the need to scream into his pillow (that happened a lot, actually, although it had gotten better since he was a little kid).

            The only problem with his warding charm was that he couldn’t really stay sane with the pure amount of _darkness_ and _silence._ Sure, he had his own breathing, but that just accented how purely silent it really was.

            So he’d taken to casting little, ambient spells that kept noise up for him. No one else could hear it because of his wards, so it wasn’t a disturbance. Tiny, glowing blue orbs (about the size of a one-pound coin) sometimes floated in each corner of the top of his bed frame.

            Most nights he tried to go without—after all, what kind of Slytherin was afraid of the _dark_? They lived a _dungeon_ under a _lake_ , for Merlin’s sake.

            This particular night, Percy felt like he was absolutely going to go insane. He had developed a method for nights like these, and he followed it to the book.

            Step number one: see how much longer you have to last.

            He pointed his wand at the top canopy of his bed and whispered, “ _Chronoso._ ” The face of a clock projected from the tip of his wand onto the canopy, showing two AM. He sighed. That was five hours he had to kill. There was no way he was going to make it.

            “ _Sonorus Mnemosynus,_ ” he said next. He felt the spell worm its way into his brain and pluck his most subconsciously pleasant memory. His time with Rachel at the lake, voices soft and far away, started playing in muted sound around him.

            “ _Premeva Hemera,_ ” he cast, finally, and the orbs shot up. This time they glowed a blueish-purple, but Percy didn’t question. Sometimes the color was changed slightly by what was in his head.

            He twisted over, a soft purple glow stained onto his eyelids, and was finally able to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont worry frens the gay and angst starts soon


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, some would say it is unethical to abuse a twelve year-old-child who has done nothing to me with ~mental things you will read about soon~ but I say, if Riordan can do, so-can-fucking-I.

On a bright, crisp, late September morning, Annabeth walked up to Percy and announced that they were both going to try out for quidditch.

            “Beth,” Percy said, “I’ve barely got any idea how to play.”

            Annabeth waved a dismissive hand. “You’ll pick it up. If you think it’s hard, I’ll teach you.”

            “I’m terrible on a broom,” was Percy’s next excuse.

            “You’re great!”

            “I can barely get five feet off the ground.”

            “This will help you get _better_.”

            “Chase,” Percy said. The clear change in his voice made Annabeth look at him closer. “I’m not being funny. I don’t want to play." Percy grumbled, “This is peer pressure.”

            “ _Good_ peer pressure,” Annabeth insisted. “Last year we both _promised_ we’d try out.”

            “I did not!”

            Annabeth argued, “You didn’t _reject_ it.”

            “Well, now I’m rejecting it.”

            Annabeth’s shoulders slumped. “All you have to do is play your best in tryouts. If you drop out after that, I won’t try to stop you.”

            “I won’t even make it _in_ to begin with. I’m not in the mood for humiliation.”

            Annabeth went silent for a good minute. Then she pricked up. “You could be better than Grace,” she said, so sly it was a dead giveaway.

            Percy immediately seized that: _being better than Jason Grace._

            Part of him thought, _you know he’s a prodigy. You know that will never happen._

The larger part of him was still thinking, _being better than Jason fricking Grace._

And without really considering it further, Percy said, “I’m in.”

-

            Quidditch tryouts were more of a blur than anything else.

            Percy started pretty well—for him, at least. He got a solid eight feet off the ground and was doing fine. In fact, Leila (Slytherin captain, as he learned) said he did it impressively fast.

            “Now,” she called, “comes the difficult part.”

            Percy shifted his gaze to direct his attention to her and in that process made the very vital mistake of looking _down._

            In his moment of looking _down_ , he realized that his _feet_ were not touching the _ground_. In fact, they were quite high up from it.

            That was when the first tiny seed of panic niggled it’s way into the clockwork of Percy’s chest like a wire, and although Percy knew he could simply pull the wire out, he was frozen. So the wire stayed, grinding the gears to a stop, and the clock started to malfunction.

            So the panic grew, and with it, so did Percy’s distance from the ground. The more he panicked, the more he simply shot up.

            Leila’s voice was the first thing that startled him enough to stop his ascent.

            She was shouting, but her voice was joyful. “You’re doing great, Jackson!”

            Percy was gripping the handle of the broom so hard his knuckles had bleached white and shook his head wildly. He wanted so badly to be touching the ground.

            But Leila either didn’t notice or didn’t care. She shouted some directions that Percy seemed to digest and process, but didn’t really hear. That was when he decided it would be better for his heart, soul, mind, and churning stomach to just stop thinking. Just _go_.

-

            The next time Percy’s brain seemed to start working, the soles of his feet were gently lowering to the grass. Leila was jogging over to him, grinning.

            “That was amazing, Jackson!” she said.

            “…What?”

            “You have a great reflex time, and everything was just flawless.” She tucked a bit of dark hair into her green headscarf, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “I’ve been looking for a new chaser, and I think you could fit.”

            Percy just repeated, “What?”

            Leila clapped him on both shoulders. “I’d love to have you on the team, Jackson. Practices are six AM on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and eight PM on Tuesdays and Thursdays. You can keep using the broom you have now. What do you say?”

            Percy stared at her. Her cheeks with red either with bitter September night cold or happiness, he couldn’t tell. She was grinning, and she was bouncing on her heels. Everything about her made it seem like this was the _most important moment in Percy’s life._

            Percy didn’t remember what he’d done on the broom, he’d been too busy trying both not to puke and not to think (which was not an easy combination), but apparently it had been amazing. Again, he thought, _I could be better than Jason Grace._

So he nodded and said, “Sure. Yeah. I’d love to.”

-

            Percy plopped down next to Rachel in the library. Neither of them was actually there to study, but Rachel liked it because it was a place she could whisper without being seen as suspicious.

            “So what do you think?”

            Rachel looked up from the essay she had clearly been not-writing. Instead, she pointed with her wand to different letters, stacking them like Tetris blocks. They zoomed back to their original places, somehow making less sense to Percy than before, once Percy had stolen Rachel’s attention.

            “About what?”

            “Me.” Percy grinned. “On the quidditch team.”

            Rachel sighed. She tucked her essay and wand into her bag. “Honest answer or nice answer?” she asked.

            Percy didn’t quite know how to respond. “…Nice answer?”

            Rachel rolled her eyes, and then slipped into a grin. “Congratulations, I can’t wait to watch you play! I’m sure you’ll do great.”

            “Oh. Um. Okay, thanks. Honest answer.”

            Rachel grinned, easily flipping it off a second later. “I hate quidditch to begin with, because it’s as boring as professor Binns, I don’t think you play quite as well as you think you do, and I think you’ll wet your pants or pass out during your first—or should I say _last_ —game. Or maybe you’ll do both. Mid-flight.”

            Percy sat, silent and stunned. “Wow,” he said, “harsh.”

            Rachel shrugged. “I cut some stuff out.”

            “…So, you _don’t_ think I should play?”

            “ ‘Course not. You can’t get out of it now. What I was saying is that I don’t think you should play _fair_.”

            Percy stared at her.

            Rachel rolled her eyes. (Percy thought if she did it any more often, they might pop out of her head.) “God, you’re thick.” She smiled. “You’ve got a little…” she sighed, muttering, “ _How to say this right_ …” then she shrugged, seeming to find no good answer, and continued, “mental problem. No offense.”

            Percy tried not to be offended.

            Rachel kept on, “it’s a panic response you have to heights.”

            “…How do you know about all this?”

            She shrugged. “Muggle psychology is really interesting to me. Honestly, wizards need to look into it. Everyone’s been tampered with. Muggles know how to fix it.” She got her smile back. “Anyway. Mental block. It’s stupid. With a little magic, someone can calm you down.”

            Percy was pretty sure he was following now.

            “You can’t exactly go to Madam Pomfrey for this, as it’s _technically_ cheating—although it shouldn’t be, I think—so you’ll have to go to a student.”

            “Are you offering to—?”

            Rachel laughed loudly, earning her an even louder _shh!_ from Madam Pince.

            “No, no,” Rachel whispered. “I’d probably mess you up _more_.” She leaned even closer to Percy at their table, making her voice even quieter. “The guy I’d recommend you go to is Jason Grace, ‘cause everyone knows he’s the best healer in our year—and, as we’ve all heard, he knows his bloody quidditch.”

            Percy could feel his face twist up. Rachel held up two placating hands.

            “But, but,” she continued, “as I know you can’t stand the poor boy, and he’s not partial to cheating, I come to you with an alternative: Piper McLean.”

            “Piper?” Percy whispered, disbelieving. “But she hates cheating!”

            “Not for you,” Rachel excused. “And not like this, trust me. Just ask her to spell you down. Potions take too long, and, frankly, teachers see right through them. But mind-altering _charms_.” She grinned. “That’s where it’s at.” Matter-of-factly, Rachel added, “I’ve been enhancing my own intelligence since March of last year, and no one’s noticed.”

            “So I just—?”

            “—Yeah.” Rachel clapped Percy on his back. “Hour or so before the game. Find Piper and ask for her to—”

            “—Spell me down.”

            “Exactly.” Rachel grinned again.

            “You’re entirely messed up.”

            Rachel offered her hand for Percy to shake. “That I am.”

-

            Being spelled down, Percy soon found, was incredibly strange. It was like being almost asleep, half dreaming and half awake. He still felt terrified, but it felt like he had taken his fear and dunked it underwater, so he could only barely hear it thrashing and screaming. It was muted and distorted, but he most certainly still felt it.

            However, for the most part, he was able to ignore it. For the most part, he was able to look down and think, _I could die right now. I could fall off and die._ But then he would look up and realize there was a quaffle that needed his attention somewhere, and he would zip off, only internally screaming.

            Playing in a constant haze of half-consciousness, Percy actually became quite good. He was able to move and think at the same speed, and he was actually rather fast, so he took to quickly becoming somewhat of a celebrity.

            “People are starting to say you could become Jason’s rival,” Annabeth told him at one point in November. She squeezed the top of his arm and smiled, her face showing something close to pride. “I told you it would work out.”

            Annabeth, now a chaser for Ravenclaw, had no idea about Percy constantly being drugged while he was playing.

            Jason Grace, who used to seemingly simply hate Percy in silence, started to confront him more and more: brushing up against him in the corridors, trying to spill Percy’s books (Jason had made it look like an accident, sure, and had helped Percy pick them up, but that didn’t change the fact that he had tried to break Percy’s property). His cheeks went pink, annoyed, whenever Percy made a comment to him or teased him, and he even tried to be Percy’s _partner_ in certain classes. Especially potions.

            “It’s his worst class,” Percy said. “And my best. He’s trying to leech off me.”

            “Maybe,” Piper said, “but that doesn’t hurt _you_. Besides, you could use this to get his help in charms.”

            “I don’t _want_ Grace’s help in charms.”

            “You _need_ Jason’s help in charms.”

            “I’m not going to respond to that.”

            “I think he admires you.”

            “I’m not responding to that either.”

-

            Once he fell asleep, Percy couldn’t see the lights above his bed through his eyelids, so they didn’t help chase away his dreams.

            He didn’t quite want to classify them as nightmares, at least not out loud, because that made him seem like some tortured soul. (Besides, Rachel would try and interpret them.) But they were. Nightmares.

            He would relive his quidditch games, practices, tryouts, in vivid detail. In his mind, Piper couldn’t help him. In his mind, anything could go wrong.

            He would spiral out of control, caught on a gale, into the forbidden forest to crash into a tree and never be found, bleeding out on some branch. He’d lose control of his broom, falling back to the ground to stay conscious unrealistically far past the cracking of his skull, just to feel all the pain. He’d get hit by a bludger, and although this was his favorite in the beginning, he would always have to dream through the fall the impact gave him.

            He’d be playing as a beater, for some reason, and he’d send a bludger careening into his teammates, or Leila, or into the stands to hurt innocent people. In the worst of his dreams—no, nightmares, he was playing against Ravenclaw, and would watch Annabeth fall. Everyone’s eyes would turn to him, and he would know for certain that she wasn’t coming back up.

            In a dream—no, nightmare that shook him so much for reasons he couldn’t explain, he was playing Gryffindor; it was an attractive young seeker who fell from his broom at Percy’s hands.

            But then he would wake up, and sometimes he would be crying (because _why_ and _how_ and _what if_ ), and he would stare at his floating fairy lights until they burnt themselves into his eyelids, because he knew there was no chance of him going back to sleep.

-

            _Alright,_ Percy told himself, _by this point, you should be able to do this. You_ can _do this._ He took a deep breath. He looked at his hand, gripped on the handle of his broom, and sighed when he saw just how bleached the joints of his fingers were.

            He peeked out into the quidditch pitch, at the stands, at the sheer amount of _people_ , at all the _movement, sound, movement, sound_. He felt very small.

            He was so incredibly stupid. He had been running too late, been almost panicking, that he’d headed to the pitch distracted enough on his own, he hadn’t noticed that he’d forgotten to find Piper. She was probably trying to find him now, but it didn’t matter. If she did it any less than an hour before the game, Percy would essentially be a vegetable. So, for this game, he would have to tough it out.

            Only, he didn’t think he could quite do that.

            _Movement, sound, movement, sound,_ Leila clapping him on the back, _movement, sound,_ green, green, and more green, _movement, sound,_ a flash of red from across the pitch, _movement_ , the panic slowly rising in his chest, _sound_ , he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t—

            “Percy?” A hand on his shoulder. A tether. He turned.

            “Percy,” Piper said again, “you okay? You were shaking. Like, really badly.”

            Percy shook his head, mutely. He didn’t wonder how she got in, being both a Gryffindor and someone who wasn’t on any quidditch team. But she had her ways.

            Percy was still shaking his head.

            Piper pulled him into a hug, arms around his neck and on the tips of her toes, and Percy had the stupid thought that he was glad that at least Piper was shorter than him.

            “I’m sorry I didn’t get to you in time,” she whispered. Percy just shook his head.

            Piper continued, “I reckon there’s nothing we can do now.”

            It was November; Piper’s sweater was thick and soft and everything flying wasn’t against Percy’s cheek. She smelled like cinnamon and apples and earth. Earth was the _ground_ , and the _water_ , and that was where Percy wanted to stay.

            He let out a small pathetic sound that he was glad only Piper could hear, accompanied by a very quiet, “I— _can’t_ ,” which Piper responded with a much more steady, “I know.”

            “Jackson? What’re you doing?” Leila demanded.

            Percy remembered that he couldn’t stay on the ground. Piper pushed herself away from him. Percy turned to Leila, left to explain.

            “I—” he started.

            Piper cut in with, “—He can’t play.”

            Percy said, “Piper, I—”

            “Jackson, bench, just for a second. You look sick.”

            Grumbling, Percy took a seat on the bench, still within perfect earshot of the conversation.

            Piper was explaining whom she was, why she was there. She conveniently left out the part where Percy was panicking because she’d forgotten to give him his phobia meds.

            “Well,” Leila said, “we need three chasers. Percy has to play.”

            “He _can’t_ ,” Piper argued. “Trust me. If you let him go out there, this’ll all end horridly.”

            Percy stared at the dark outline of his shoes against ground. He shuffled them back and forth, he studied the pain of his slouching back, he memorized the splintering pressing of the wooden bench against his palms and fingertips. He listened to Leila and Piper’s conversation. He had missed a chunk, as what he first heard was surprising.

            Leila. “Why should we let _you_ play?”

            “ ‘Cause I’d do a better job than him. ‘Cause I wouldn’t pass out a hundred feet in the air.”

            “You’re in Gryffindor. I don’t even think that’s allowed.”

            Piper said something, and Percy tuned out again. He thought about how, in a couple minutes, he be staring down at the ground from so, so high up. Unnaturally high up. He thought about his dreams (no, nightmares) from the night before. They were the exact same view.

            His stomach keeled, his eyes pricked, his throat closed, his vision swooned. He just wanted to stop shaking.

            The world around him started to blur and swirl again, with all of the movement and sound. _Movement, sound_.

            Two hands on his shoulders, now. Two tethers. Leila’s voice saying, “Jackson, I want you to go to your room, and I want you to drink some water and go to sleep. I want you to change out of your uniform and give it to McLean. I’ll be sending someone to check on you when the game’s over. Do you understand?”

            She really did look worried. Percy’s heart seized. Had Piper told her anything? The panicking, the cheating? He didn’t want to meet Leila’s eyes.            

            “Yeah,” he muttered. He stood. He legs felt strangely disconnected from the rest of him. Like the world was the thing shifting around him, like he was constant.

            Piper was reaching for his hand. She took it, gave it a quick squeeze, and only that seemed to send blood flowing through his body again. He gave out hasty nods, he did as Leila had told him. He tried to ignore the shame, the movement, the sound. He tried not to think.

            Walking back, he tried not to pay attention to anyone staring.

            In the dungeons, he walked around the empty common room (no one wanted to miss a match against Gryffindor), clenching his fists and his teeth and his spine and trying to channel _calm_ , not _anger_ , and certainly not _tears_.

            They came anyway.

            So he walked to his bed. He didn’t draw the curtains, but he turned off the lights, wanting either something else to focus on or nothing at all. He lost count of how many times he cast _Premeva Hemera,_ his clashing emotions dyeing the lights all different colors. He didn’t seem to run out of energy. It was monotonous work. But soon—or not soon. Maybe an hour had passed. He couldn’t tell—the ceiling of the room was filled with small balls of light, glowing as many shades as he could’ve imagined. The lights mixed, casting a rainbow glow over his splinter-filled palms, the carpet and the beds, his terrible wand.

            “ _Sonorus Mnemosynus_ ,” he whispered. He almost felt as if he couldn’t talk in the presence of the lights.

            A soft, hissing, bubbling sounds started. Potions class.

            Percy listened to the soft clinking of cauldrons, the muted stirring of magickal stews.

            The lights glowed. He stared.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> piper was trying her best dont judge her
> 
> (also, summer in llaneilian!)

The last time news had gotten to Percy so quick, it was because Jason had been made into some sort of preteen quidditch god-figure.

            Now it was because Piper McLean had apparently messed up _so incredibly badly_ , that she—playing as a _chaser_ —had managed to get Jason Grace hit with a bludger.

            There were a few things that struck Percy about this situation.

            One, the whole thing was oddly strategic. Had anything in the situation happened a moment before or later, everything would’ve been fine.

            Two, this was somewhat Percy’s fault. Because Piper had taken Percy’s spot.

            Three, he didn’t know whether to feel good or bad about it. On the one hand, he should be horrified, because Jason Grace got hit by a _bludger,_ and Piper was probably tearing herself up over it.

            On the other, Jason Grace wasn’t in any danger of death or permanent injury, so Percy partially viewed the bludger as the punch to Grace that Percy could never give.

            Piper, he knew, didn’t view any of it as Percy’s fault. (She thought it was her own, which really wasn’t true. It was a choice of letting herself get hit, or move out of the way. She made the obvious choice, at least in Percy’s mind, at least when it was about Jason Grace.)

            Annabeth, luckily, believed the excuse that Percy had dislocated his shoulder. Percy had thought that she might not, being as critical as she was, but apparently Percy was a better liar than he’d previously thought.

            So, since Percy really didn’t care after the first couple of days that Jason Grace had broken a couple of ribs, he devoted most of time to making Piper realize that she had absolutely nothing to feel bad about.

            Unfortunately, this involved doing mostly everything of what Piper requested in regards to the Jason Grace situation.

            Three days after the quidditch game, to Percy’s horror, what Piper requested is that she, him, and Annabeth go to see Grace in the hospital wing. (Apparently, she didn’t want to go alone.)

            Percy had limits. He claimed that he wouldn’t speak to Grace, if he was even awake, for that matter.

            Annabeth had rolled her eyes (she was quickly catching up to Rachel), and Piper had grudgingly agreed. She had already told him that she felt guilty for making him come, anyway.

            Percy just kept himself from being completely bitter with the mantra that Jason most likely wouldn’t even be conscious at this time—a late, snowy November evening.

-

            Jason was awake. And amiably sat up, as well. Whatever he was staring at in his hands to entertain himself (some sort of ball swirling with misty grays, blues, and violets), wiped itself clear when the three new people entered the room. He grinned, setting the transparent sphere aside, and gave Piper a wave. She just looked down.

            Piper took the seat next to Jason’s bedside, Annabeth taking the one on the other side. Percy didn’t quite know what to do, so he stood, awkwardly, on the outskirts of the curtain frame.

            Jason met Percy’s eyes for a second then, giving him a quizzical look that Percy was sure was more of a rhetorical question than a personal one: _what’s_ he _doing here?_ Percy saw Jason shift a little, uncomfortable, and his fist tightened on the edge of his sheets.

            Piper took Jason’s other hand, loosely, probably mostly for her own benefit rather than Jason’s, although Jason hadn’t really broken Percy’s gaze, still staring at him questioningly.

Percy’s chest tightened a little, although he didn’t quite know why.

            _Of course she’s going to pay more attention to Grace right now,_ he chided himself, _he’s the one in the hospital wing._ But the feeling didn’t go away.

            Piper, Annabeth, and Jason soon slipped into easy conversation and laughter, and Percy didn’t still really know what to do.

            Although he most certainly didn’t care about Jason’s current physical condition, it still didn’t feel right to glare at him with the fires of hatred burning in his eyes when Jason was like this, so he couldn’t do that.

            He couldn’t just join their conversation. For one, he didn’t know how to talk to Jason, really, without at least low-key insulting him. (Regardless of whether Jason was offended or not—infuriatingly, most of the time, Jason just seemed to find whatever Percy said funny. Jason regarded himself annoyingly lightly.)

            He also couldn’t leave, either. He didn’t know how Piper would feel, if he left, because it made her officially the most awkward person there. So he just stood. And pretended not to notice Jason staring at him in perfect intervals.

-

            So Percy dropped out of quidditch.

-

            Having rich friends was terrible.

            Piper was the daughter of an American wizarding Hollywood sensation (or, Tristan McLean _was_ an American wizarding Hollywood sensation before the drama became ‘too much’ for him and he disappeared into the Irish countryside to escape the American obsession with all things celebrity). The absolutely mad amount of money he’d made before Piper was even born was enough to keep them both in the Irish highest of upper classes until Tristan’s death, at the very least.

            Rachel’s father was a land developer for shopping centres, train stations, and stadiums, and he knew how to talk numbers higher and higher.

            Annabeth’s father… well, Percy wasn’t quite sure what he did. It had something to do with old muggle aeroplanes, and an office at Cambridge, and four different books with “Frederick Chase” on the covers.

            Sally Jackson worked in a sweet shop in Llaneilian, because while living in their house was free, food cost money, and books cost money, and clothing cost money, and _things cost money_.

            So Piper talked about her summer plans, and Rachel about hers, and Annabeth said that she didn’t really have any. Percy said nothing because he didn’t want to say that he’d probably spend the summer walking dogs for the shopkeepers again, or selling muggle magazine subscriptions, or getting a shift at the antique shop.

            Until Annabeth said to him, June third, “Could I stay with you over summer holiday?”

            She said it with all the nervous innocence of someone who really wasn’t sure of the answer, but the response was critical.         

            Percy stuttered out a, “S-sure,” before he could even wonder _why._ He also realized that he had just said yes without asking his mother. But Sally could never turn someone who needed a place to stay down, and the house had more than enough extra room.

            Annabeth grinned. “I just don’t want to have to spend another holiday with my stepmother in the summer home while my dad’s at the university.”

            _Summer home. University._

“Yeah. Makes sense.”

            Annabeth reached to loop her arm around Percy’s shoulders, pulling him into her side. “Thanks, though, really,” she said.

            Percy nodded, silent. He wondered what magazines would sell best this year.

-

            Percy was relieved the moment Annabeth stepped out of the rental car and grinned. He had just woken her up, and she was now staring, bewildered and awed, at the place around her. She had already fallen in love with Llaneilian.

            Her trunk rolled on the gravel that made up the path to Percy’s front door. She could’ve turned to the right and seen the Irish Sea over the cliffs, but she was too busy looking at the massive, threateningly old house before her.

            Annabeth’s first question, when they got inside, was, “Is it haunted, Percy, do you reckon?”

            Percy shrugged, but Sally said, “Oh, I _know_ it’s haunted. This house has been in the family for a hundred years or more. I think my great aunt Lyda is still haunting the third floor.”

            She said it so casually that it struck them both as funny. Percy heard Annabeth laughing easily as he retrieved his trunk from the passenger seat.

            Later, in the kitchen as Sally drank tea and Percy drank hot chocolate and Annabeth drank coffee (even she couldn’t explain why she liked it) and they all ate squishy blue cookies, Annabeth asked where she’d be sleeping.

            “There are plenty of rooms to make yours,” Sally said. “I’ve lost count of how many spare bedrooms we have. But if you’re uncomfortable, you can always stay in Percy’s.”

            Annabeth met Percy’s eyes. She cocked her head to the side, as if to ask, _would that be weird?_

            Percy’s immediate response was, _not at all._

The pair had gotten rather good at silent communication, Percy realized, as Annabeth asked, _for the whole summer?_

_Why not? You can move any time you want._

Annabeth shrugged. Percy mirrored her.

-

            “You didn’t seem like the organized type,” Annabeth commented. She was, in fact, referring to Percy’s room: a medium-sized prism, with a window overlooking the cliffs. He had a bookshelf he never used and a desk he used even less, and the usual trappings: bed, closet, dresser, and a bedside table. Everything had a place and Percy liked to keep it that way, or else he got too distracted… from whatever he did. He needed a hobby. (Or, Annabeth thought he did. He _had_ hobbies; they just couldn’t be very easily transported to Hogwarts. He wondered what school would be like if he just skated away from all of his problems.)

            Annabeth blended into his room effortlessly, which Percy was relieved. Annabeth was _bright,_ in more ways than one. Her intelligence could render anyone speechless, sure, but within talking to her for five minutes you’d realize that.

            Percy, after two years of coaxing Annabeth out of some public personality (she’d done the same to him), had realized that Annabeth Chase was fifty percent flame, fifty percent miracle.

            He had been afraid that she would pale Llaneilian. But she didn’t. She blended right in, with soft fabric and muted colors and hot tea and witty conversation. Annabeth _was_ Llaneilian, in a way. Everything that it meant, she was a human version of. Maybe that’s why Percy had fallen for her so quickly.

            Not… like that. No, not like that. Percy was happy to have Annabeth pressed up against him on train rides, and to share his room with her for the summer, and to swing their loosely joined hands back and forth as they walked back from herbology, but… she was growing from her old American sweetheart look into someone seriously beautiful, but it was just that: beauty. Not attraction.

            Maybe Percy was thinking too much into that. He always did.

            He found it strange that he didn’t seem to feel that way about… well, _anyone_.

Every one seemed to catch each other’s eyes during his second year, if they hadn’t in the first. And Percy felt left behind. The strongest emotion he felt on a daily basis had to do with Jason Grace, and even then it was mostly annoyance, or jealously, or anger, or a million other things that made his stomach go light and his pulse kick into overdrive.

            That couldn’t be anything like what anyone else felt like.

            Percy realized he’d gotten distracted by his own brain again. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “When things are messy… my… thoughts don’t work? That doesn’t make sense.”

            Annabeth nodded, putting her trunk in the corner and plopping onto Percy’s bed. She had already made herself at home. “No, that makes perfect sense.” She laughed. “Same for me, but I can never make myself organize. I was hoping the other Ravenclaw girls would help me, but… I quickly learned we were all the same.”

            Percy joined Annabeth on his bed, her moving to sit against the headboard to make room for him, him simply laying like a starfish. He felt Annabeth poke the top of his head.

            “What’s it like, Ravenclaw?” he asked her. He couldn’t keep the dreaded combination of melancholy and jealousy out of his voice. Percy, honestly, would’ve taken any house over Slytherin, although he had a pretty firm idea that him being in Ravenclaw was practically laughable.

            Annabeth’s eyes lit up. “It’s absolutely _brilliant_. Pun intended. No one really ever does their own homework. We just give it to someone who likes that subject, y’know? Honestly, I think every house should do that. I haven’t done anything but runes homework since the end of first year.”

            Without meaning to, as she was still talking, Annabeth’s hand strayed to Percy’s hair, softly and repetitively brushing it behind his ear.

            Percy knew he really didn’t stand much of a chance. He just hoped Annabeth wouldn’t be pissed at him when she realized that he’d fallen asleep while she was talking.

-

            Between Percy’s second and third year, this was summer:

            They spent most of their times on the cliffs conveniently close to Percy’s house, maybe half a kilometer away at most, though Percy had never bothered to measure. They brought thermoses of tea and soft cider and asked each other the most stupidly deep questions in a competition not to laugh.

            Sally had an old cassette player, and the quality was terrible but she didn’t bother to fix it, not even with magic. Instead, grainy American 80s music leaked through the whole first floor of the house for most of the day; neither Percy nor Annabeth complained.

            On days where it rained, which were frequent, Annabeth read classical poetry and it all felt terribly pretentious even as she tripped over every other word, but Percy was happy to listen, even though he had a firm belief that some forms of art were more necessary to the world than others.

            They went to Diagon Alley together, much too late for Annabeth’s comfort, and after they’d finished their shopping, went to the ice cream shop, and stood outside, light heartedly judging people as they walked past.

            Annabeth promised she’d try to come back over Christmas, although Percy was sure that would never happen. Sally assured Annabeth that she was always welcome. The pair boarded the Hogwarts Express.

            They met up with Piper and Rachel (Percy was even on too much of a mood high to be too angry that Jason Grace was there, especially because he never once spoke) and everything was pleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes im aware the shore of llaneilian is very small, but back when i lived there i always w i s h e d that there were cliffs so look i added them
> 
> gosh i miss home ;-; (there's never anyone welsh anywhere, but imma ask anyway: anyone who used to live in wales want to cry with me??)


	6. Six

Percy _knew_ sneaking into the Forbidden Forest with Rachel was a terrible idea.

            But here he was, anyway, stranded with Miss Dare in the middle of the woods, holding some pastel pink and blue glowing flower petals that were attracting anything but the right kind of attention.

            The wrong kind of attention included: mysterious hissing, strange luminescent eyes that followed the pairs every movement, and darting shapes that seemed both too fast and too large for Percy and Rachel’s wellbeing.

            “Maybe now’s not exactly the right time for self-realization,” Percy whispered, barely heard over the afora-bug’s song and reaching for Rachel’s hand, “but maybe I was meant for Slytherin all along. I’m not feeling particularly brave right now.”

            Rachel laughed, linking her fingers with Percy’s. “You’re a wimp; that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for three whole damn years.”

            “I accept that, but are we any closer to getting out? I believe I signed up for an hour in here, at _most_. Not three.”

            Rachel looked around, spying the faintest break in the trees to their left. “Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled. “This way, I think. C’mon.”

            Percy felt almost giddy with the rule-breaking they’d just committed when he’d broken out of the forest and onto the grass. The unbroken moonlight was calming, as was the sight of the castle in the distance. But no lights were on. They must’ve missed curfew.

            “Rach,” Percy said. Rachel had been counting the glowing petals she’d grabbed from Percy’s hand, but she looked up after Percy had insistently repeated her name around four times.

            “Rachel, it’s already been lights out. I don’t know how we’re supposed to get down to the dungeons.”

            Rachel linked arms with Percy. “We sneak,” she said, sounding more sure than she looked. “And if we get caught… well, we only have everything to lose.” She tried for an easy smile. “I work well under pressure. Follow my lead.”

-

            Elaboration is due: Rachel, ever since first year, had had something that could be called an obsession with divination. Percy supposed it was warranted, given that she was the best at it that Percy had ever seen, even at thirteen years old, but that still didn’t excuse her latest heist.

            In the restricted section of the library (another rule that Rachel seemed to break regularly), Rachel had come across something called oracle flowers.

            As well as Percy would remember, they supposedly gave one irrefutable vision to the consumer per petal consumed.

Rachel had quickly decided that she absolutely needed some. She convinced Percy to come with her to get them from the Forbidden Forest, as they were outlawed in Hogwarts castle and to its students because of some sort of divination cheating loophole whatever-it-was.

Now, they had them, but Percy wasn’t sure that it had been quite worth the risk. It had been nearly impossible to get back to the dungeons after actually procuring the flowers. They’d almost been caught by Filch (twice), and had missed the Hallowe’en feast. In fact, by the time they’d gotten back to the Slytherin common room, it was already November first.

Percy hoped that Rachel was happy with her flowers, at least. The lights from _Premeva Hemera_ were cast in pastel pinks and blues that night.

-

            “You know,” Annabeth said, tapping her quill annoyingly fast against the top margins of her parchment, creating a starry sky full of inky dots, “I never _actually_ pay attention in class.” She paused, finally, setting her quill down and settling for putting her head in her hands and sighing. “I think I’m going to die.”

            Percy didn’t really know what to say to comfort Annabeth, or if there was anything he could say at all. He settled for saying, “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you’ll do any worse than Piper or me.”

            “But Piper doesn’t care!” Annabeth exclaimed, earning her a loud and outraged _shhh!_ from a seemingly invisible Madam Pince. “And you… well, you…”

            “I suck at almost everything,” Percy said, before Annabeth had to. He tried not to feel offended. Annabeth just nodded, looking a little guilty. (At least he still had potions.)

            It was right before Christmas holiday, meaning that right after were exams. Annabeth was stressing beyond what Percy thought was capable. (Granted, he was, too, but he had reached a mental state of _so much stress_ that he no longer felt stress at all. He preferred to think of it as a way of laughing in the face of death… just less heroic.)

            And if Annabeth was stressed out, that meant Piper was, as well. Piper seemed to reflect Annabeth’s emotional condition to a T, a habit that she’d only seemed to pick up in their third year.

            Regardless, Annabeth was using her stress to drag Percy to study with her whenever she could, and Percy, for once, wasn’t complaining. He needed all the help he could get.

            One particular evening of Annabeth and Percy’s typical study date, Annabeth mentions that _Piper will be there_. That it was _originally just me and Piper, but I thought last-minute that you might want to come, too, Percy_.

            Besides the fact that when Percy and Piper were near each other, even _more_ sarcastic quips tended to be made, Percy was fine with that.

            He was, however, _not_ fine when he went to the library with Annabeth and saw not just Piper at their table, but also Jason Grace.

-

            Percy aimed another kick at Annabeth’s ankle under the table, but refrained. She was already distracted, talking to Piper, and doing something right then would’ve just made the whole situation _more_ awkward.

            So, realizing that he now basically had to fend for himself, Percy decided to just not meet Grace’s eyes and just do his studying in silence.

            This, however, was ruined when Jason Grace politely (“ ”) cleared his throat and tapped the back of Percy’s hand.

            Percy snapped his arm back, looking up so quickly he saw Jason flinch, and demanded, “ _What_.”

            Jason gestured towards Percy’s clear lack of an inkwell. “I was just… ‘cause you don’t seem to have any… um,” he stopped. “…Do you need any ink?”

            Percy didn’t answer, because the stupid angry light-stomach heightened-pulse feeling he always got around Jason was back, and he couldn’t get himself to say anything.

            He settled for getting his point across as non-verbally as possible: rolling his eyes, turning himself as far away from Jason as he could manage, and keeping up Jason’s gaze with what he thought was his best glare.

            Annoyingly enough, Jason didn’t really look intimidated. He cocked his head to one side, though, and seemed to study Percy, because that’s what he did when he was confused.

            Percy stared back, of course, because he couldn’t let himself lose, trying to get Jason to _look away, damn it,_ but Jason wasn’t. He almost seemed amused by Percy’s discomfort.         

            Since neither of them seemed to be backing down any time soon, Percy had a lengthy amount of time to just look at Jason’s face (which, despite his hatred for Jason Grace, still trumped studying).

            There really wasn’t anything that Percy hadn’t known before: blond hair, old-money London cut, eyes light blue and still amused, cheekbones (higher than Percy’s, the skin covering them somewhat paler and less freckled—read: enviable), the scar above his upper lip that was barely noticeable if you didn’t spend enough time looking,and his lips themselves: somewhat bitten with stress, darker on the inside and almost bleeding outward.

            Then, in an exchange as fast as a high current than Percy didn’t really understand, his eyes had found their way from Jason’s lips back to his eyes, and he had seen Jason smile, almost impishly, and the unwarranted thought: _why am I staring I’m such an idiot_ crossed Percy’s mind before he couldn’t really stop himself and he broke Jason’s gaze, cheeks starting to burn.

            _What the bloody hell just happened?_

Someone’s shoe bumped innocently but deliberately against his under the table. Percy could feel Jason still staring at him. He didn’t look up.

-

            Percy took a deep breath to go into a spiel, and he felt Annabeth sigh next to him. They were heading to Ravenclaw tower, mainly because Percy wanted to rant and not for chivalry.

            “Why did you bring me there? You know I don’t like him and you _know_ he hates me.”

            Annabeth stopped, apparently having had enough. “Jason doesn’t have a single problem with you.”

            Percy just stared at her, completely disbelieving.

            Annabeth sighed again. “Trust me. I asked him.”

            “You _asked_ him?” Percy’s voice was loud enough that it woke up a previously sleeping portrait of Merlin, who grumbled and straightened his cloak in Percy’s peripheral vision.

            “Yeah! Perce, I’m _friends_ with Jason. Because he’s a _good person_ and _smart_ and _funny_ but that’s beside the _point_! The point is that I’m friends with him, and you’re friends with me, making you friends with him by association.”

            Percy didn’t quite know what to say. None of Annabeth’s adjectives made much sense, but he really didn’t have anything against them, either. So he said, “I’m not going to be friends with Jason Grace—association or otherwise.”

            Annabeth seemed incredibly _done_. “ _Why_.”

            Percy went for the simple approach: “ ‘Cause he’s a dickhead.”

            Annabeth started to say something along the lines of, “Maybe _you’re_ a dick,” but she stopped halfway through and made this disgusted sound in the back of her throat, turning to make the rest of the trek up Ravenclaw tower by herself.

            Percy stood in her wake, annoyed (but it’s _Annabeth_ ), and began to walk down the tower, destination: dungeons.

            He runs into Jason Grace on his way across the school (of course, obviously, why ever would he not).

            Jason gave an apprehensive, “…Hello?” holding up a hand in a half-wave.

            Percy doesn’t respond, he simply widens the arc he would’ve made around Jason from _normal_ to _rude_ and _quarantine-esque_ , and maybe cast a specific hand gesture when he was sure Jason couldn’t see.

            Jason didn’t comment, so Percy was clean.

-

            After, in his bed, maybe at three AM because his brain simply _wouldn’t shut up_ , Percy was in the stage of being so sleep deprived that you were more honest with yourself than you ever would be when you were thinking normally.

            In this state, Percy thought over what Annabeth had said and what Jason had done, and thought that maybe, just _maybe_ , Annabeth was right. And maybe Percy was too harsh to Jason, and maybe Jason was actually—

            —No. No, Jason’s still a massive arse and that was final.

            Percy didn’t let himself think about Jason for the rest of the night.

-

            After exams, which were after winter holiday, Percy barely passed most of his classes (except for transfiguration, which he failed, but that was not to be a topic of conversation), and his potions grade was phenomenal.

            His victory, however, was rather short-lived, because as soon as Percy had seemingly become Snape’s favorite student (was that a good thing or a bad thing? It kept you off his bad side, at least), Jason immediately started advancing: asking questions, extra credit, everything that was giving him the ability to surpass Percy.

            Percy brought this up to Piper, to see if Jason even knew what he was doing. (Piper, because although she was probably the more dangerous choice to begin with when it came to Jason, Percy had recently _made_ Annabeth the even more dangerous choice all by himself, just by being less-than-tactful.)

            Of course, Piper took Jason’s side and excused that he only wanted to get better, than it was his worst subject, that Percy should stop being so paranoid, and countless other things that Percy had already expected to hear when he’d approached her.

            Outwardly, Percy accepted that (he even got a small look of approval and relief from Piper), but internally he was simmering.

            Jason always seemed to come out innocent—even when Percy knew whole-heartedly that he _wasn’t_ —Jason was just—Percy hated to use this word so much but it was the best option— _infuriating_. He was a cocky bastard who took the place that Percy should’ve had and didn’t deserve it. Had he lived up to his house name, he would’ve actually approached Percy, would have actually spoken to him, instead of just going under the radar and trying to screw with him.

            But, apparently, there was nothing Percy could do about any of it.

            He didn’t say any of that out loud.

-

            In one of the charms classes that Percy had with Jason, still third year, Jason made the most glorious mistake that Percy knew he would treasure for years to come.

            The mistake took the form of Jason trying to cast a fire-freezing charm ( _Froidius Faux_ ) and _quite_ the opposite occurring. In fact, the explosion was so intense and so exact that it blasted Jason backwards into the wall, creating immediate fractures.

            Jason, actually, seemed completely fine, especially since he stood up no more than five seconds later, declaring, “No one saw that.”

            A few of the Slytherin students had already turned away, figuring that they didn’t care about Jason Grace; they didn’t need to deal with him. (That wasn’t Percy.) A few people, regardless of house, were laughing. (Strangely, Percy couldn’t seem to make himself.) Most students were staring, completely stunned. (That was Percy.)

            The cracks were mended before class was even over, but the candle that Jason had been trying to cool kept shooting off seemingly random, intense sparks, causing everyone to jump.

            Jason was the last out of class, having done something to his fire (something along the lines of having made it turn green and become very hard to put out), and by the time Percy had left, Jason was still inside. He even saw Professor Flitwick before he saw Jason.

            Then he decided that it wasn’t worth it and left Piper there waiting for him. A few minutes later, Piper caught up with him in the halls, on their way to the base of Gryffindor tower, and then Percy was to head to the dungeons.

            After Piper was up in the tower, Percy realized he had left his inkwell in the charms classroom, probably because it had fallen off his desk when Jason had basically exploded. He’d be expected to clean up the ink and broken glass. Sighing, he turned back and started to trudge. He prayed that the door was still unlocked.

            The door was unlocked.

            Inside, Percy saw two rather alarming things.

            One, his inkwell was indeed shattered on the floor, the only one he’d actually managed to keep from being nicked, and two, there was a rather large green campfire near the front of the room, with a person, silhouetted, slouched in front of it.

            Percy would have cleaned up his inkwell and left, completely silent, but he hadn’t brought anything to clean it up with, which mean he would have to use magic. And magic meant he had to say words.

            Which was just brilliant. Percy was also ninety-eight percent sure the person in front of the fire was Jason Grace, which just made everything even better.

           Percy tried to cross the floor silently, but happened to step on an outlying chunk of glass. And while it didn’t hurt his trainers, it did make a very loud crunching sound. Causing the person in front of the fire (who, yippee, was now confirmed to be Jason) to whip around.

            The fire only illuminated half of Jason’s face, and the skin that the light did go across looked sickly and green, casting sharp shadows and making him look somewhat like a skull. But green flames also caught on Jason’s irises, shooting them through with teal that flashed entrancingly bright in the darkness of the classroom.

            Then Percy’s eyes adjusted, and he saw the rest of Jason: wand gripped tightly in one hand, knees drawn to his chest, an expression that was a mixture of embarrassment, fear, sadness, and anger (at least, that’s what Percy would divine). Tears were highlighted by firelight on Jason’s cheeks.

            They both kept staring.

            Finally, Percy managed to clear his throat and say, very intelligent and eloquently, “I don’t—what’s—are you—”

            Jason just put his head a little to the side, dragging the base of his thumb over his cheek. “I really don’t have time for your shit right now.”

            Percy managed to stutter out, “I wasn’t—I don’t…” he couldn’t exactly speak. He didn’t know why. The stupid, angry light-headed, pulse-jumping feeling was back, stronger than ever. He couldn’t believe he was about to say what he was about to say.

            “…Do you… do you need help, Grace?”

            Jason shrugged as Percy took his apprehensive steps forward. “Greek fire charm,” he said. “I did it by accident, I think, and I don’t know how to get it out.” Percy reached for his wand, and Jason cut in with, “Aguamenti doesn’t work.”

            Percy froze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            Jason wouldn’t meet Percy’s eyes. He had stopped crying, at least, so that was good. He said, “I just… you’re good at water elemental magic, right? I just thought…”

            “You didn’t think anything,” Percy snapped. He didn’t like Jason _knowing_ things about him, however public the information might be. “And I wasn’t going to cast Aguamenti.”

            Jason just shrugged, gesturing to the fire like, _all yours._

Percy cast _Froidius Faux_ , and to his delight, it worked. (He had gotten right the only spell at which Jason Grace had failed.) Well, he cast it correctly. It didn’t affect the fire.

            Percy figured he was going to be there for a while. He sat down.

            Jason didn’t move away, but he did eye Percy like he had just sprouted a second head. “What are doing?”

            “Sitting,” Percy answered. “I’m invested now. And, if I left,” he added slyly, “that’d make me an arse.”

            “Make?” Jason questioned, raising an eyebrow, looking somewhat close to a smile.

            It was one of the first bits of sarcasm Percy had gotten from Jason, and surprisingly, it felt like something akin to nice. Almost friendly. Jason’s banter wasn’t rude like Percy’s, it was well-meaning and honest and… God, what was he _thinking_?

            Percy distracted himself from his brain by talking. “How’d you manage to keep it in one place.”

            Jason shrugged for the third time, covering a yawn with his fist. “I didn’t. I just immobilized it, but it didn’t work. It’s just moving out _really_ slowly.”

            “I can’t even see it.”

            “Trust me.”

            “I do.”

            Percy said it without meaning to. Jason gave him a strange look. Percy silently decided to forget he’d ever said that; it wasn’t true, anyway.

            There was nothing left to say after that, or at least, Percy couldn’t think of it, and Jason didn’t prompt anything, so they just sat in silence. They sat together and watched the fire relentlessly burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the oracle flowers seem random but they will be important later
> 
> ALSO THE BEGINNING OF THE GAY *throws bisexual-flag colored confetti at you* WOOH!


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this took a long time. but look at all that gay.

The summer between third and fourth year was a strange one.

            Annabeth was staying over again, which made the holiday at home with his mother go from perfect to sublime, and Piper was in the country _all summer_ , which should’ve been amazing.

            The only catch was _why_ Piper was in Wales.

            Her father had apparently _“had less than no time for me”_ (her words) and she decided she absolutely couldn’t stay with Jane, her father’s assistant, so she would have to stay with a friend.

            The first friend who approached her was Jason. Who’s mother apparently had a summer home in Wales. (Why did everyone have ‘summer homes’? And why did they have to be in _Percy’s_ bloody country?)

            Percy wasn’t about to waste a whole holiday where Piper was in the vicinity (country counted as vicinity, especially when you had people who’s jobs it was to take you everywhere). So he took a risk, and invited her over. He knew that if he told her not to bring Jason she would get mad at him and not come at all, but he was hoping she would get the message regardless.

-

            There was a knock at the door one rainy July afternoon, and Sally called, “ _Percy, Annabeth!_ ” from the top floor, and Annabeth ripped out the headphones they had been sharing (Annabeth was showing him some pretentious independent American band she liked), simply saying, “ _Piper_.” Percy followed her down the stairs.

            However, when they opened the door, Piper was standing there and grinning, with a very worried-looking Jason Grace beside her.

            Percy felt his stomach crashing down. His pulse was already creeping up. That couldn’t be good for his health.

            And then Jason met his eyes. Cue the long, competitive staring.

            Annabeth seemed to catch on immediately, as she could just read people like that, and looked between their connected gazes with a worried expression. She quickly invited Piper in, who tugged Jason after her, breaking the stare.

            Sally came up soon, too, and even she seemed surprised at the addition of two people instead of one, the unexpected of which was rather tall. (Annoyingly tall, actually. Annabeth had an inch or so on Percy in their first year, but they were the same height now. Piper was still around two inches shorter than both of them, but _Jason_. Jason was four inches taller than Percy, and there was no hope of him ever catching up, and it was the worst.)

            Sally, sensing the rapidly cooling situation, did what she always did when she thought things were becoming uncomfortable: offered hot beverages.

            Jason instantly shifted into a bright smile and accepted, saying that he was _sure Piper would love something as well_ (as she was talking vivaciously to Annabeth and was already being taking on a tour, it seemed like) and _thank you for the hospitality_ and _Wales really is lovely this time of year._

            His smile was so appealing that Percy decided he could _maybe_ tolerate him for just one night.

            Sally handed Percy three mugs for him to dispense among the guests; Jason offered to carry one for him.

            Maybe.

-

            It was insane.

            Jason wasn’t supposed to… _fit_ there. He wasn’t supposed to belong in Llaneilian—no, he didn’t belong in Llaneilian. He _looked_ like he did. That was bad enough. Percy was just hanging onto the wisdom that appearances were not indicative of reality.

            Jason wasn’t supposed to instantly charm Sally, and he wasn’t supposed to understand the bits of Welsh that made up the charade of living in a bilingual country, and he wasn’t supposed to match the dark wood hues and the pressed parchment feel of the house, and he wasn’t supposed to dwindle and dim to otherworldly muted greys like the rest of Wales did as it drew darker, colder, rainier, _darker_.

-

            Pitch black, rain against the windows in Percy’s bedroom that he’d (grudgingly) let them all into, the effortless team sport of sarcastic conversation, put with the best of improvised plays: _joke, addition, a running gag, laughter, quip, quip, laughter, pause._

One of these pauses was ended by Jason saying… _something._ And Percy laughed. He couldn’t help himself. Unfortunately, it was funny.

There was a breath-held moment of silence—it wasn’t like Percy had been the only one laughing. He had just been _Percy._ And Jason had just been _Jason._

Over Piper and Annabeth, Jason met Percy’s eyes. Percy tried to meet his, but instead found himself focusing on the tiniest bit of a hopeful smile curving over Jason’s lips, the bottom one of which was tucked neatly and lightly between his teeth.

            Percy pulled his knees to his chest, looked at Annabeth expectantly, and waited for her to direct the conversation to other matters.

-

            And then Jason just kept showing up.

            At first, Percy tried to ignore him. He tried to be terse whenever he absolutely had to speak, he tried to avoid conversation in the first place, he tried to never laugh, never make eye contact, never invite anything. He acted through Annabeth whenever something was direly necessary.

            Percy never said it out loud, but he was also kind of pissed at Piper. She had brought Jason without telling anyone, and she kept bringing him back. (Although, now she had Sally’s enthusiastic permission—Sally _loved_ him, which just accentuated the fact that Percy _loathed_ him—and Percy really could never find the heart to go against his mother. So, horridly enough, it seemed that Jason was there to stay—at least that summer.)

-

            Percy slowly felt himself avoiding and ignoring Jason less and less. He had come to the realization that he shouldn’t be made to feel as if he had to hide inside his own home.

            So his source of rebellion: be marginally friendly.

            It was absolutely killing him inside.

            It was killing him, yes, but it actually wasn’t that hard to do. It took him a decent amount of days to find out that what he had to do wasn’t bite his tongue—Jason seemed to appreciate the banter, firing back with well-aimed, well-timed, and appropriate quips—what he had to do was not actively barb it. His default state shouldn’t have been _“the lowest blow”._

            Of course, never in a million years would he ever tell anyone that he found tolerating Jason anything less than astoundingly difficult.

            It was easier, though, to function, when Percy was able to speak when he wanted, smile when he wanted, laugh when he wanted, joke when he wanted. It was easier. And it terrified him.

            As time went on, though, what was more frightening was that he could no longer make himself hate any of it.

            Luckily, he could still hate the fact that he couldn’t hate Jason, which kept some fire burning in his stomach. Jason still gave him that feeling, the feeling of a million miles an hour in his chest, a hurricane inside his skull, like someone had cast _Wingardium Leviosa_ on his stomach, so there must’ve been _something_ left, some untapped anger towards Jason Grace that Percy hadn’t quite found yet.

            He couldn’t find that reserve of anger just then. He didn’t really want to find it. (Another thing he’d never be able to say.)

            The problem with Jason, Percy found, was that he was too _human_. He was easy to despise when he was some sort of figure: the Face of Gryffindor, the Youngest Seeker, the Top Student of Transfiguration, the Boy Piper (Probably) Fancied, the Boy Who Should’ve Been Percy, the Boy Who Lit Percy’s Veins On Fire.

            It was pathetically easy to hate an enigma. It was pathetically easy to hate something you’d stacked your evidence against, and never got close enough for it to fight back.

            But, when that defenseless enigma became a _person_. When you suddenly knew how that enigma liked his tea, that he loved thunder storms, that his humour was dry and refreshing and timeless, that he got the scar above his lip from trying to eat a _muggle_ _stapler_ when he was _two years old_ , he was suddenly a lot harder to despise. He was suddenly a lot easier to sit on the giant library rug with at one AM (along with two girls that meant the world to you) and read different books, imitating each other’s accents.

-

            Percy, as has been previously established, when combined with Piper, made quite the cunning sarcastic commentator.

            This was highlighted when Annabeth and Jason suddenly caught themselves in a series of bets, which somehow led to them both being on brooms in the middle of a distant field near an abandoned barn. Annabeth had commented on how it would be better at the cliffs, Percy had quietly told her that he would never take Jason Grace there in a million years. She shot him a look, but seemingly decided that this was as close to a miracle as she was getting.

            Annabeth lost every time. No one seemed to care.

-

            Percy knew he was going to lose it someday. “Someday”, also known as the day that Jason and Piper stopped coming back. The day that all the awkwardness and hate and terse speech and edging away and hand gestures that Percy had thawed came quickly frosting back up, and by the time they got back to Hogwarts, he’d be frozen solid.

            He couldn’t decide whether he wanted it to happen or not. He couldn’t tell which half of him was drunk off of the placebo effect.

-

            But, for those few timeless weeks where Percy didn’t have to worry that he was enjoying himself because the promise of more hatred was always looming, he found that the only thing he could admit out loud to liking about Jason was how easily uncomfortable he got.

            Percy had gotten good at this, at making Jason crack his stupidly perfect composure. (Enigma or not, the boy was too chivalrously Gryffindor to ever lead a normal life.) Over the summer, it had gotten progressively easier. Percy didn’t know if that was due to him getting better at getting under Jason’s skin, or if Jason was just getting worse at putting up with Percy.

            Regardless, it took Percy’s ten seconds, tops, to get Jason to break his gaze, flush, quietly take a great interest in his shoe laces, and drop from the current conversation for a few triumphant moments.

            He assumed he annoyed Jason as much as he annoyed himself whenever he laughed at something Jason said, because often the only thing that he had to do was laugh (on particularly lucky—unlucky?—occasions, he could simply smile) and meet Jason’s eyes. For some reason, Jason couldn’t stand it. Percy was glad that he hadn’t gone so insane as to no longer find Jason’s discomfort funny.

-

            Jason stared down into his cup, the expression on his face perplexed.

            “You know,” he said, softly (Percy could understand why; the seven AM rain and the paleness of the world outside of the house seemed to demand that they speak quietly. The only noise except for the gentle _‘pit pat’_ of the rain against the window pane were two voices whispering on the carpet of the living room as Piper tried to read Annabeth’s palms), “I never thought to ask why your mother’s tea is always blue.”

            Percy felt himself about to laugh. It was a story every guest got when they asked about the blue food and beverages. Sally had told it so many times that Percy was starting to get it himself.

            “In my ma's seventh year, her arseface of a boyfriend said that blue food wasn’t real, and ever since, she’s been determined to make as much blue food as possible. Even after they broke up.”

            Talking about Sally’s exes had always felt strange to Percy. It was strange, because he knew all the stories, he knew all the little quirks, the memories, and had seen some of the pictures, except for a gaping hole in the year nineteen ninety-four.

            Sally, Percy knew, would say everything about Percy’s missing father if she could. But she didn’t know much about him. Apparently, nobody did.

            He moved on in his thoughts before Jason could notice the change of emotion that he was sure was broadcasted across his face.

-

            _July first, 2007_

Piper called the Jackson household at five AM. Percy would not have answered, had the phone not rung insistently until five-fifteen. Finding it impossible to sleep, and not wanting to make his mother answer it, Percy had stumbled out of bed and down the stairs to the kitchen, picking up the outdated landline and pushing it groggily into the side of his face.

            “Miss Sally?” he heard. It was clearly Piper’s voice.

            Percy’s voice was fifty percent a croaky sleep quality and fifty percent confusion.

            “Yeah? Ah, shit—I mean, no, this is Percy.”

            Piper laughed quietly. “Right.”

            Percy leaned against the counter, twisting a hand through his tangled hair to push it back from his face. Sunlight was already starting to stream mistily through the window.

            “Piper,” he said, “why are you calling so early? What time is it, even? I didn’t check.”

            “Five-fifteen ish,” Piper answered, sounding downright chipper.

            Percy groaned. “Jesus, Pipes. What do you want?”

            “I’m gonna be showing up with Jason in a couple hours,” Piper said.

            Percy couldn’t help feeling a twinge of annoyance at the words, although he’d completely expected them. “Thanks. Nice of you to tell me. Wish you’d done it for the past _week_.”

            “That’s not it,” Piper insisted. “Today is Jason’s birthday.”

            Percy was both too tired and pissed for that conversation to be happening. He simply asked (rhetorically, really), “So?”

            He could practically _hear_ Piper shrugging on the other end of the line.

            “ _So_ ,” she said, “I was thinking we could do something…”

            “What would you _possibly_ have me do.”

            He heard Piper’s exasperated sigh crackle against the receiver. “Never mind,” she said, sounding almost bitter, and continued, “just tell Annabeth.”

            Percy shrugged. “See you at seven.”

            Piper wordlessly hung up.

            Percy made his way to Annabeth’s room, the one she’d only moved into that summer, feeling a little nervous as he knocked on the door. (Annabeth in the morning was not typically a thing to be trifled with. Still, he knew that when she realized that Percy hadn’t reminded her that today was Jason’s birthday, she would be royally pissed at him. So he had to open the door.)

            Annabeth was not a graceful sleeper. The summer before, when she shared a bed with Percy, he had witnessed some of that gracelessness, but when she was given a bed of her own, it was completely magnified: Annabeth sprawled on her stomach, the duvet in a whirlpool of violet, her hair in a whirlpool of gold.

            She didn’t wake up when Percy knocked, or opened the door, so he stood in the doorway, and said softly, breaking the foggy silence, “Beth.”

            Annabeth didn’t do so much as twitch. Percy said, slightly louder, “ _Annabeth_.”

            Silence.

            “Annabeth Chase!”

            Annabeth turned wildly, sitting up and glaring at Percy. She rubbed the butt of her palm against her eye, groaning and yawning at the same time.

            “Percy,” she said, “it’s, like, not even light yet.”

            That wasn’t true, Annabeth just had her curtains pulled tightly closed. Percy crossed the room and opened them, casting the bed in the soft morning light of Llaneilian.

            “It’s Jason’s birthday, apparently,” Percy said, leaning back against the window pane and crossing his arms over his chest.

            “It’s July already?” Annabeth asked, mostly unconcerned and stretching her arms above her head.

            “Yeah,” Percy said, “and Piper wants us to _do_ something.”

            “When’re they showing up?”

            “Seven-ish.”

            Annabeth froze at that. Then she shot into action. She tossed her duvet back and ran into the closet (Percy made the bed while she was there, not being partial to the asymmetry). No more than fifty seconds later, Annabeth emerged, fully dressed, and hopping on one foot as she tried to pull on her other trainer.

            “Toss me that brush, yeah?” she said, and Percy threw her the hairbrush from the sparsely decorated vanity. Annabeth tried to rake it through her tangled, cyclone-esque hair, eventually growling as she seemed to give up, tossing it back on the bed, and just pulling her hair behind her head with an elastic from her wrist.

            “Where are we going?” Percy asked. He felt slightly self-conscious, now that Annabeth was staring at him, completely dressed for the day, and he was still standing there in a massive t-shirt and flannel pyjama bottoms.

            “To go get something for Jason,” she said, like it should’ve been obvious.

            Percy unabashedly groaned. He didn’t want to leave the house that early, and _especially_ not just to get something for stupid Jason Grace’s stupid birthday.

            But Annabeth just kept staring at him. The look in her storm-grey eyes let him know that he was going, and he wasn’t going to complain about it.

            He went back to his room to change.

-

            “D’you think he’d like this?” Annabeth asked, voice low in the tiny bookstore. It was really the only shop besides the sweet shop that sold things suitable for gifts—not just books, either. There were plenty of curios.

            “Fuck, Beth, I don’t know.” The only staff in the shop—an old lady who wore abnormally large peacock feather earrings—glared at him, presumably for his use of language. He ducked his head apologetically, continuing quieter, “How am I supposed to know what he’d like?”

            “I don’t _know_ ,” she whispered, harsh and whirling around to face Percy, arms crossed over her chest. “I just thought since you spend so much time _obsessing_ over him you might know!”

            “I don’t _obsess_.”

            The bookstore was set up like a labyrinth—claustrophobic shelves covered in both strange objects and new and used tomes. Annabeth leaned back against a shelf, shifting so she was hidden from view of the clerk, who was still staring at the pair disapprovingly.

            Annabeth knocked her ankle against Percy’s, snaring his attention again. “You really do,” she said. “I spend less time talking about him, and I’m actually his friend.”

            “He just gets on my nerves.”

            Annabeth shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Just thought you might know something.”

            She was too nonchalant for Percy to take her seriously, but something about what she’d said had stung. (He didn’t obsess, he just hated Jason—he did _not_ obsess.)

            He would’ve brought it up again, but Annabeth had already begun haunting the shelves again.

-

            Sally still wasn’t awake when Annabeth and Percy arrived back at the Jackson dwelling, which Percy was actually rather thankful for, because he realized that he had completely forgotten to tell her that they had left _after_ they were already well away from the house.

            Really, though, Percy’s mother must have been used to him disappearing for hours (or a day or two) on end by then. He used to it for at least a few hours every other day when he was younger, chasing bits lights through the trees and spots of darkness into the sun.

            That didn’t mean she had become someone who didn’t worry.

            The pair slipped into the kitchen, Percy checking the clock: six-fifty-two AM, the closest of close calls. Annabeth went back to prepare _whatever_ it was that she’d bought for Jason. Percy didn’t know what it was; he really wasn’t interested—in fact, he’d made it a point to show to Annabeth just how _un_ interested he was. She had just gifted Percy with an annoyed expression and said, “ _Right_ , fine, but I’m signing it from both of us anyway.”

            Percy had shrugged, looking through the curtains of the door to check if Piper and Jason had arrived yet—they were almost late. But there was no one.

            When they finally _did_ show up, Piper entered, bubbly and pulling a (reverted back to) nervous-looking Jason in tow. Percy slunk back to the corner as inconspicuously as he could.

            He missed most of their conversation—it was too… _happy_ and… _Jason-centric_ —but after a while, Annabeth tugged him out from the corner, the look on her face very clear: _if you don’t cooperate today, you will most certainly regret it._

Percy sometimes wondered if it was unhealthy, how scary Annabeth could be if she tried.

            Jason met his eyes for a second—one, two, five, ten, like they always did—and then dropped. Percy could’ve saved his fuse for today, maybe, possibly and theoretically, but he had been spent. He was burnt to the ground. (He had always had a problem with fire.)

-

            When Sally woke up, she seemed mildly annoyed at Annabeth and Percy—not because they’d snuck out, but because they hadn’t told her it was Jason’s birthday. She would’ve made cake.

            She really couldn’t stay mad for long, though, and a few minutes later, she was in the kitchen, while the four kids were in Annabeth’s room.

            Annabeth’s room used to belong to Percy’s muggle grandmother, before she’d passed. It was a small box, made even smaller by the large bed in the center of it, and lilac, all of it: the duvet, the drapes, the old-timeish, peeling wallpaper. The walls were hardwood; creaking constantly, probably rotten and mouldy underneath. But that was something that none of them could help.

            It had a large window, overlooking the unkept and overgrown garden beneath it. Sally was never one for gardening, so the thing now just looked like a forest. There was a pond in there somewhere, and Percy had even found it a couple of times, but he’d lost it over the years.

            Jason sat on the sill now, silhouetted in the now much stronger sun. Annabeth was talking, but Percy was studying—studying the way the swelling hardwood felt soft and insubstantial under his restless fingertips, the way Annabeth was speaking, not what she was saying, but how her lips and tongue played out vowels so different from his own. The way the light fell over Jason’s shoulders. An aura, protection, halo.

            He studied as the light crept up above the top line of the window’s border, and then as Jason came into light, Percy studied him. Jason wasn’t fazed; he was talking to Piper, not paying attention to Percy. He studied the span of Jason’s jaw, a soft tick mark, lightly down and left. It was sharper than Percy’s, sharper than even Jason’s than it had been in their first year.

            Then, seeming near to random, Jason met his eyes. Percy coughed, dropped his gaze. He had been studying, but Jason had slammed the book closed. His pulse was pounding in his ears, louder than it had been before. It felt like a punishment.

            Annabeth peered over Jason’s shoulder, mercifully distracting, and said, “S’not raining today.” She grinned at Jason. “Quidditch?”

-

            The patch of field that Percy and Piper were sitting next to each other in was damp, but watching Annabeth and Jason play was distracting enough.

            Jason’s older sister (Percy didn’t know her name) had graduated at the end of their second year, and she was there to practice with over the summers for Jason. Annabeth had to rely on these short, one-on-one, and hopeless matches. And that was on days that it wasn’t raining. (Which was near to every day in Llaneilian.)

            Jason, although typically quite passive, was anything but as soon as he got onto a broom: sarcastic backtalk, smirking, jiving, and gifting quips. Percy let himself laugh because if anyone seemed to notice (they didn’t), he had an excuse—it was Jason’s birthday.

            Percy had admitted this before, but it was a conclusion he kept coming back to: Jason, in his own straight-faced, straight-laced type of way, was actually quite funny.

            Jason and Annabeth hung above the field. Percy looked left, towards the distant cliffs and the sound of the sea. How he’d much rather be there than in that muddy circle of grass. With company, yes, but he’d rather—

            —Percy’s thoughts were cut off by the sudden torrential rain.

-

            The abandoned barn was closer than the Jackson house. The water was already sloshing, mostly mud, creeping up the fabric of Percy’s pants by the time the four got inside.

            Perhaps there’s a certain scent that you associate with barns. Maybe it’s the smell of hay, or very clearly manure, or _eau de fauna._

This, however, was not the case for the Wythson barn. It was so incredibly old that the whole place just smelled lightly of mould, and even that was just from the sheer amount of rain that soaked into the groaning wooden beams.

            The doors were monolithic and somewhat maggoty things that were closed as soon as possible, shutting out a good bit of the rain.

            They, all four, stood inside the barn and listened to the (unfairly intense) rain, before Annabeth finally spoke up, “Wales is just… angry England.”

            Percy had never really been in England except for the few days before each new school year, so he really didn’t have any ammunition for arguing. He just asked, “Angry?”

            “Yeah,” Annabeth said, “like, we have rain, but this is _intense_.”

            Percy met her eyes. “This country was not made for the weak.”

            Piper entered the conversation, on the threshold of laughing, and said, “I always knew you’d move in with me one day.”

            Percy crossed over to the other side of the barn, rooting around for _something_ even mildly entertaining. He was laughing in response to Piper, even as he told her to piss off.

            The loft was just about three meters up, a big slab of wooden slats dripping water and hay onto the even more mucky ground beneath it.

            Percy propped the ladder against the edge of the loft rather gingerly, not really trusting it. Fortunately, it held fast, and he was quickly over the top of it and sitting triumphantly on the loft.

            “I don’t suppose there’s a torch anywhere in here,” Annabeth called from where she was rifling through old farm equipment, occasionally tossing aside with a small shriek something that was particularly hanging.

            Percy didn’t bother to answer, because no more than one second later, Jason exclaimed, rather proudly, “No, but I did find a lantern!”

            The thing Jason held up was a huge, cobwebby lantern, so immensely covered in spider silk, Percy thought that even if they did manage to light it, they wouldn’t be able to see anything.

-

            They did get the lantern lit. And Jason cleared off the cobwebs, so they could see. Annabeth cast _Lucerna,_ which, she explained to a horrified Percy, wouldn’t get her in trouble, because arguably they needed light to stay safe.

            They put the lantern on the loft, where it wouldn’t get smothered by mud, and huddled in a very small circle around it, so as to stay in its feeble glow. Jason was closer to Percy than Percy would have really liked, but no one was talking, so he thought he’d be able to bear it.

            After a long bit of silence (besides from the raging rain and thunder outside), Piper said, rather pathetically, “…Well, happy birthday, Jay.”

            Jason responded to her words with an unchecked, faintly illuminated smile. “It’s happy enough,” he answered. “Still crushed Beth in quidditch, though.”

            Annabeth scoffed. “Just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean I won’t hit you.”

            “Respect your elders.”

            “You’re only eleven days older than me!”

            Percy listened to the conversation, trying not to smile, trying not to stare, and focusing instead on the pounding sounds of the rain.

-

            The rain seemed like it wouldn’t ever let up.

            The inevitable passage of time didn’t let up, either, so the time went on and the night grew thicker and the conversation of the quartet turned from intelligent humour to something that could be called _regrettable nuance._

            Piper was the first of them to go. She leaned back against a hay bale, Annabeth’s jacket crumpled under her head in a sort of pillow, and told the rest: _wake me up if the world starts to end._

Percy thought, by the sheer amount of water that seemed to be falling from the sky outside at that moment, that the world very well could be ending. But he didn’t think he should wake Piper up.

-

            Annabeth was the second to go, falling back against the same bale only a few minutes after Piper. Their heads bent together, shoulders pressed close. Percy knew that that he was quite alone; Annabeth slept like the dead.

            Jason, after a few minutes of silence, reached to tap Percy’s knee.

            “I was just thinking,” Jason started, but stopped when Percy met his eyes. (They lit up insistently blue, illuminated by this orange fire.) He broke their eye contact, swallowing, then continued, “I was thinking since we’re the last two awake… I mean, I don’t want to just… I thought—”

            “—If you’re going to say something, _say it_.” It wasn’t like Percy to snap so early in a conversation, but if Jason was going to think that was what Percy was always like, Percy wasn’t about to argue with him.

            “If you want to talk,” Jason said, “it won’t be unwelcome.” His voice died off, until he continued, “…’Cause if we don’t, I’ll fall asleep, too, probably.”

            Percy was actually considering talking to Jason Grace—he really was, insane as it seemed—but then he actually stopped to _look_.

            Jason’s shoulders, pale blue shirt, still darkened with rain. His collarbone, sharpening and annoyingly far up into Percy’s personal space. The ever-present, ever-clear lines of Jason’s neck, his jaw, his lips.

            Jason smiled, small and apprehensive. His teeth snagged his bottom lip, his damnable nervous habit.

            Percy’s chest was running away without him, Jason was so far on his nerves.

            Fuck it all, he _couldn’t._ He was so sick of Jason, so sick of holding conversation, he just couldn’t do it again. Maybe he’d be able to by the next morning, but not then. He’d already suffered enough that day.

            Percy meant to say something smooth. Something cool. But that wasn’t like him, he had nothing to say. So he turned, and stared at the lantern.

            Jason sounded a little disappointed, but he said, anyway, “That’s… that’s fine.” He laughed softly, “But now it’s up to you to wake everyone up.”

            Percy might’ve nodded. He couldn’t really check; he was busy replaying that laugh in his head. Soft, polite, a fraction of what he’d come to hear. Even that small bit was a sharp pang of bother between his ribs.

            So then there was quiet.

            There was quiet as Percy took pains to stare straight ahead, to not shrink away from Jason (that was defeat, regardless of whether Jason was fighting or not). There was quiet as Jason kind of fell asleep, drowsy and slumping slightly forward. There was quiet as Jason _actually_ went under, unconsciously falling onto Percy’s shoulder.

            Jason was asleep, his cheek on Percy’s shoulder and his scalp against Percy’s jaw.

            Jason was asleep on Percy’s shoulder. Percy thought, _Jason is asleep on my shoulder._

Percy’s pulse hiked up. Then he turned to look at the sleeping Jason, and his pulse hiked up again. The nervous feeling in the back of his throat the roof of his mouth and his stomach and his head and his chest, his chest, his chest that Jason always brought with him sprung back even stronger now.

            Jason shifted slightly, making a small, unawake noise and slipping even farther onto Percy’s shoulder. Their arms were crossed, pressed close in a lazy _“X”_ shape.

            Percy was combusting.

            Jason’s skin, what Percy could feel of it, was just about as soft as it looked.

            He hated this, he hated this, he hated this.

            The rain wasn’t letting up. The lantern was dwindling.

            Percy had been right. The world was ending.


	8. Eight

Percy woke up the next morning, although he was sure he hadn’t fallen asleep.

            He also wasn’t quite sure where exactly he was, because it certainly wasn’t the position in which he (apparently) fell asleep. It was somewhere soft, flat, pressing against his cheek. His hand was crumpled against the soft surface next to his face in a loose fist.

            He listened; it was silent. Except for movement of the surface under him—it was sliding out from whatever he was laying on.

            He sat up, ready to straighten the surface.

            The surface—although it was dark in the barn, it was growing lighter, and Percy could see bare outlines and slight highlights—turned out to be Jason Grace.

            Percy did something quite stupid then. He stumbled backwards, both kicking Jason’s leg and slipping his hand off the edge of the loft. He saw Jason snap awake.

            Jason didn’t seem to notice whatever expression was on Percy’s face (honestly, Percy himself wasn’t too sure). Instead, he stretched for a few seconds, rubbing the thick of his palm against his eye and covering his yawning mouth with a fist.

            When Jason finally did look at Percy, he looked normal at first, then shifted into something close to a mixture of slow and tired confusion and perplexed.

            Percy came to the realization that Jason most likely had no idea what had just happened. Percy was more than happy to keep it that way, so when Jason asked, “You alright?” he answered with a very sure, _yeah. Yes. Yeah, I am._

            That just made Jason seem even more unsure. Percy let it drop, crawling over the burnt-out lantern to wake Annabeth and Piper.

-

            The trek back to Percy’s house was already rather treacherous: to avoid taking his friends (plus Jason) to the cliffs, Percy had had to make some pretty extensive back cuts. (One look at Annabeth’s face told him that she knew exactly what he was doing, but she never spoke up about it.)

            _The trek back to Percy’s house was already rather treacherous_ , but it had been made even worse by the unbelievable amounts of rain that had fallen so quickly. (Wales did that sometimes—tried to drown everything.) By the time the four actually got back to the Jackson house, they were completely muddy, very tired, and (in Percy’s case, at least) quite perturbed.

            That was nothing compared to Sally, though.

            Sally Jackson rarely ever got angry. Her fuse was incredibly resistant. No, scratch that, she didn’t have a fuse. No, double-scratch that. She was entirely a fuse that just _couldn’t light_.

            Percy had almost never seen his mother anything more than mildly disappointed. …Until the moment that the four children in her care walked through the front door of her house, completely unannounced, more than twelve hours later than when they said they’d originally be back, and tracking muck everywhere.

            (The fuse had been lit. It was burning.)

            Percy blocked out most of what Sally was saying. He had a lot of practice with blocking out angry adults, although it was admittedly both easier and more difficult with his mother.

            Easier because she wasn’t yelling—she _never_ yelled. Harder because she wasn’t a teacher, she was his _mother_.

            Regardless, after a few minutes they explained their situation and everyone was much calmer.

            (Sally was used to her son disappearing, but that didn’t mean she had become someone that didn’t _worry_.)

-

            Piper and Jason didn’t spend that day at Percy’s. It was something about Jason’s sister, and they were supposed to have left the night before, but Percy’s didn’t really care, so he didn’t look any farther into it.

            Both him and Annabeth were pretty tired of the outside world, of exploration, so they stayed inside that day. It started to drizzle in the afternoon, and Percy (definitely not for the first time) thought about exactly how much rain could fall over one place before it actually became laughable.

-

            There were really only two places that were high above the ground in which Percy felt comfortable: the cliffs and his window seat overlooking the cliffs. He was sat in the window seat, two AM, unbelievably tired (both literally and of hearing the rain against his window). The glass was chilled, so he tried not to let his bare skin touch it. Annabeth was on his bed, lazily laying like a starfish and staring up at the ceiling. They had been talking at one point, but Percy had already forgotten what about. Now they just threw stupidly tired comments back and forth, never quite spurring conversation.

            People really do become rather dull when they haven’t slept. (Except Annabeth. Annabeth was always the exception.) People also become rather daring when they hadn’t slept. (Annabeth was still the exception; she was always daring.) (Unfortunately, Percy was also an exception to this. He just became dull, never brave.)

            “Why do you even dislike Jason?” Annabeth mumbled after a while of silence.

Percy couldn’t really hear what she’d said at fist; he sat up. “Hm?”

Annabeth didn’t sound any more insistent when she repeated, “Why do you even dislike Jason? Like, really?”

Percy’s brain was too slow to flag the question. He mulled it over for a bit, then shrugged. “Dunno. He makes me feel weird.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Percy shrugged again, not remembering that Annabeth probably couldn’t even see him do it. “Like, in my head, I guess. But also… _not_. I don’t _know_.” He made some half-sigh sound in the back of his throat. He wasn’t even sure if Annabeth was listening at that point, but he kept rambling anyway. “Like,” he said again, “whenever he’s around me, whenever he’s here, he’s so… _here._ I—I can’t focus on anything else, and I’m bad at focusing anyway. He just makes it even _harder_. Sometimes even when he’s not around, he takes up too much space in my brain. And…” Percy slowed, trying to get what he wanted to say together in his head so that it could come out of his mouth. He was bad at that, at getting his words to make sense. He thought mainly in pictures and feelings. Things like speaking and reading didn’t make _sense_. He shook his head to clear it, wishing he could just talk in images.

“Okay,” he said. _Attempt number two. Talk._ “He just… makes everything else harder to think about. He fills up my head and my stomach feels… kind of like it’s floating…?” (He was trying to articulate things. He really was.) “And… and my heart speeds up a lot and my blood… like, fizzes…?” (God, he was bad at this.) “So… I guess to answer your question… he just.” He stopped. “ _Shit_. I can’t talk. He… he fucks up my head and my chest and I can’t stop thinking about him. That’s why I hate him.”

For a few long moments, there was silence in Percy’s bedroom. Then Annabeth started making quiet and strange noises. For a second, Percy thought she was snoring. Then he realized that she was laughing, and trying not to.

“ _Merlin_ , Percy,” she said after a while.

At first, Percy thought she was making fun of how long it took him to get across what he’d been trying to say, and he couldn’t stop himself from feeling hurt. “What?”

Annabeth had still been laughing, but she managed to calm down enough to say, “That doesn’t sound anything like hatred.”

“…Then what does it sound like?”

“It _sounds_ like you fancy him.” She was laughing again.

Percy wasn’t really sure quite how to answer that, except repeating himself and saying, “ _Sorry_?” Then he got his wits together enough to say, “That… _what_?”

Annabeth was still laughing, so Percy just rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall. He let his temple fall against the window, not minding the cold, because at least it distracted him.

-

            He knew it wasn’t true, but that didn’t it mean it didn’t follow him, creep around in the back of his mind.

            Piper and Jason came back the next morning, and perhaps the missing hatred had resurfaced early, because Percy’s blood was fired red not with iron, but with emotion alone.

            Caught when Jason said hello, _I don’t like him._

When Jason met his eyes after cracking a joke at which Percy had forced himself not to laugh, lip nervously bitten, _I don’t like him._

When he found himself staring, studying, memorizing, _Stop, no, I don’t like him._

He felt like an idiot, for letting anything of what Annabeth had said worm its way into his consciousness. She didn’t know about him, she was _wrong_. Percy _couldn’t_. He _hated_ Jason, he knew he did; he practically felt _sick_.

            He should just forget about it.

-

            He couldn’t forget about it.

            The summer holiday was ending soon, and for once, Percy found himself counting down the days. He wanted Jason out of his house, out of his conversations. Out of his head. Recluse was the easiest route until then; he let them entertain themselves. He felt sick enough to fake it, anyway.

-

            It was the last day of summer holiday that Piper and Jason could spend at the Jackson house. They were going back to Jason’s family flat, in London. (Finally.) For the last few days, Percy had put enough damper on the mood of the four to strain Piper and Annabeth’s efforts to keep Jason and Piper’s arrivals every morning. They’d kept it, though, right up to the last day, where inexplicably, they still showed up together right after breakfast.

            Percy shot Annabeth a look. He was already past the end of his tether. Annabeth shot him a look back, twice as snarlish. Annabeth had won.

-

            Percy didn’t really remember much from that day, except that he’d tried extra hard to be asocial and was punched in the stomach by Annabeth for it. Also, he remembered the moments before Jason and Piper left incredibly well.

            There was a knock at the front door, and Percy (sensing an opportunity to leave the current conversation) stood up from his place on the library carpet and went to go answer it.

            There were two very similar yet very different women on his front porch.

            One was tall, intimidatingly so, and skeleton-thin with milky blonde hair. The other was shorter (not short, but short _er_ ), with the same blonde roots, but choppy and dyed an inky black. Her eyes were lines ferociously, and her eyes themselves were shockingly blue. _Painfully_ blue.

Percy flicked his gaze back to the blonde woman, to see if he’d missed her eye colour, but her irises shone a muddy greenish-brown. She wasn’t looking anywhere specifically, and her eyes were almost glazed. The shorter woman was the one who actually interacted with him.

“Jackson, yeah?” she asked. (English.) “This place is in the middle of nowhere, I swear.”

“Percy Jackson,” Percy answered, going for a handshake. “And it is.” He seemed to have passed some sort of silent test, because the girl’s face broke out into a grin. It reminded Percy of a sharper version of Jason’s. In fact, the girl’s _everything_ reminded him of a sharper (and more feminine) version of Jason’s. (Painfully sharp.)

The girl reciprocated to Percy’s instigation of a handshake. “Thalia,” she said. “Grace.”

“Jason’s sister?” Percy asked. It was obvious, resemblance painted onto every one of her features.

Thalia nodded. “Yeah. He’s here, right? ‘Cause he said he was here. He said he’s been here all hol—”

“—Yeah,” Percy said, almost laughing. “He’s here. Come on in.” He lead Thalia into the kitchen, expecting the taller woman (whom he expected to be Jason and Thalia’s mother) to follow. But she didn’t, so Thalia had to go back outside and bring her in.

They stood in the kitchen, the taller woman not really looking at anything still, until Thalia tugged lightly on the woman’s arm and said, “Mum, this is Percy. You know Percy, Jay talks about him a lot.”

The woman swiveled her head to look at Percy. Her eyes focused, but she didn’t say anything. She leaned heavily into Thalia, her ankles leaning dangerously in bright fuchsia pumps. (Blue eyes, pink shoes—both seemed too bright for Llaneilian just then.)

Thalia said, almost inaudibly, “You can call her ‘Beryl’.”

“Not… ‘Miss Grace’?” Percy asked, even closer to being inaudible.

Thalia shook her head. “She doesn’t like it.”

Percy thought that seemed a little strange, but then again, _she_ seemed a little strange, so he took it in stride. “Right.”

Sally came downstairs a few minutes later, greeting Thalia and Beryl amiably. Percy saw the slight uneasy curve of her smile as Beryl stared at her silently, pitching sideways, wobbly and hazy.

Sally patted Percy’s back. “Love, why don’t you go get Jason and Piper?”

Percy made his way up the stairs, pausing at inconspicuous intervals along the way to listen to snippets of conversation happening on both of the floors above and below him. There was a rambling from his mother downstairs, asking if anyone would like tea, and Thalia scrambling to cover up the gaps in the conversation. She was funny. (That was something about Thalia that didn’t remind Percy of Jason. Her humour. She wasn’t just _sharper_ , when she spoke it was all blade.)

From above him, Percy heard the typical quips and responses, but he heard little bursts of surprised shriek-laughter (mostly from Annabeth), and a few mentions of his name.

He froze on the steps, trying to listen harder. Nothing was making it through.

There could be nothing better than to crash the party, then. He finished traversing the rest of the staircase and opened the door to the library without warning.

There was a moment in which everyone just _stared_. Then Percy said, “I think… there’s a ‘Thalia’ and a ‘Beryl’ downstairs? They’re—”

Piper stood up almost instantly, heading for the door. She snagged Percy’s wrist on her way past, and gave a quick and reassuring squeeze: _we didn’t say anything bad._ (Piper was the best at conflict resolution.)

Jason kept staring for a moment. Percy didn’t meet his eyes. (His stupid eyes that fit so stupidly well with Llaneilian.)

Then Jason brushed past him. Percy stared at the carpet and listened to the sound of his steps down the stairs. He went down before Annabeth could say anything to him.

-

When he got back into the kitchen, it was mercifully bustling. Percy stood on the edge of the commotion and felt distracted, which was good enough. Thalia said something to him, something that caused his mother to laugh (probably lightly as his expense), but Percy hadn’t been paying attention. He didn’t have to answer, though, because Piper looped an arm around his shoulders and leaned her temple into his. She said something of a farewell, although she’d see Percy a week later, and moved on to Annabeth, who was waiting impatiently by the doorway (for some reason). They went outside together. (Irrelevant: that day, it wasn’t raining.) Jason wasn’t in the room.

Sally disappeared to the upper floors to check if anyone had forgotten anything. Thalia led Beryl to the door, the former tripping over the edge of the carpet and slurring a curse, the latter functioning as a very pissed handrail.

It was quiet in the empty kitchen, with Annabeth and Piper’s enthusiastic final conversation leaking in from outside; Percy leaned back against the edge of the table.

He didn’t feel relieved, like he’d thought he would have, now that everyone was gone. He was mainly a buzzing static—but that happened sometimes, if too many things were happening. His brain just cut to static, and he went on with his life somewhere else. (There were too many people.)

He wasn’t very excited for school, since he was able to see most of everyone he cared about over holiday. (Except for Rachel. He was excited to see Rachel.)

The floorboards creaked as his mother walked around upstairs. They creaked as someone walked down the hallway. They stopped creaking somewhat when Jason walked onto the newer boards of the kitchen.

There would’ve been staring, for a moment. Percy stopped it before it could start.

“…I,” Jason started. Then stopped. His bottom lip suffered more nervous abuse. “Goodbye, I guess. See you soon. At. At school. And—and… school.”

Percy pushed himself off the edge of the table. “Yeah.” He contemplated crossing the room and ditching Jason right then and there. He didn’t. He raised a hand to wave. Jason pulled Percy into him.

-

            It was a shocking thing, to be hugged by Jason Grace. Not really a _hug_ , more of a cwtch: one of Jason’s arms was over Percy’s, the other was under his. The jumper Jason was wearing pressed into Percy’s cheek, and the entire thing was close and soft and warm.

            There was a flare in the pit of Percy’s stomach. He couldn’t pull back; he couldn’t do anything except wait until Jason freed him.

            Which Jason did, eventually, and tried for a smile. Percy stood on the uncomfortable feeling behind his ribcage and managed a small smile back.

            “Thanks,” Jason said, “for letting me stay.”

            “It’s fine—It’s. You’re welcome?”

            Jason stared for a second more, a grin still on his face. Then he turned and left the house.

            Percy leaned back against the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> school starts this monday i am n o t p r e p a r e d
> 
> also "cwtch" is a welsh for any of you out there that are not in fact welsh. it doesn't really have an english translation, but the closest thing i could come up with is like an affectionate, cuddly hug. the other meaning of cwtch is like a safe space, or a nice little burrow.
> 
> sorry if i've used any other wenglish words that i didn't realize weren't actually words that everyone used!! just comment asking "wtf does *insert word* mean" and i'll get back to you.


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahhahahhahaha this was fun to write. I :) Love :) Gay :) Suffering :)
> 
> also, since school is starting in a matter of hours for me, i need your opinion: should i pick up a schedule or nah? if i did, i was thinking bi-weekly (as in twice every week, not once every two weeks) but idk if i should have one at all.  
> whatever really.
> 
> ooh! also! i have a cool christmas thing (aka ficmas) planned, and i'm working on that now too so i can have it ready in time and i am quite excited yay)

Percy sat as close to the middle of the room in the North Tower as he possibly could, leaning into Annabeth as much as he possibly could without attracting too much attention. (Annabeth didn’t seem too thrilled about it, but she didn’t push him away like Rachel had.) (“ _Percy, you are fourteen years old, you’re in the middle of this room, and you’re a bleeding wizard. It’s not like you’re going to die._ ”)

            Percy wanted to argue that it was _her_ that made him take the elective—divination—in the first place, but instead he just pressed his shoulder to Annabeth’s, on his other side.

            He could tell Annabeth was sitting next to him out of pity. There was an open seat next to Piper across the room, for Merlin’s sake, and Annabeth kept looking over at it longingly. But Percy didn’t care why she was there, really. He needed an anchor, and he was more than completely willing to have Annabeth fulfill that purpose.

            Jason was also in that class, but Percy had made a point to sit as far away from him as humanly manageable. He wouldn’t look back to that corner, either.

            Jason had been the _worst_ once school started again. He appeared to have assumed that since Percy had found himself able to hate Jason less over the summer that it made them something like friends. This could not have been further from the truth.

            Besides the fact that Annabeth mercilessly teased him about fancying Jason (which still wasn’t true, he was adamant on that front), Jason seemed to make it achingly easy for her. Whenever Jason was around, Annabeth would meet Percy’s eyes, almost mockingly, and Percy would respond by doing something incredibly stupid, like tripping and falling onto his face, or saying what he was thinking out loud, or many other, equally mortifying options.

            So Percy had just resorted back to ignoring and avoiding Jason at all costs—no insulting, no glaring, no nothing. And Percy planned to keep it that way.

-

            It just so happened that divination was going to be the end of Perseus Jackson. Life had been fun, at least at most points, but Professor Trelawney seemed to think that fourteen years was a good age to go, and so Percy was to be ready to ascend.

            All right, maybe he was exaggerating. But he was pretty royally pissed and more than sure that he wasn’t going to survive divination that year.

            It wasn’t just the tower that was getting to him (or the fact that he completely sucked at the subject as a whole), it was the fact that Trelawney thought she knew what she was doing. And that he had to pretend to _agree_ that she knew what she was doing.

            Annabeth told him that she had only been hired because of a relative of her—Cassandra Trelawney, a revered seer. Percy was now of the sure opinion that the ability wasn’t genetic.

            For one, she made the biggest mistake that Percy could easily remember (and, yes, that included when Piper accidentally hit Jason with a bludger), which was thinking that Percy and Jason “would go well together in this field”. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she acted on her notion; Percy and Jason were now partners for the year in divination.

            Percy picked up his old habit of screaming into his pillow again.

-

            Percy hadn’t had any nightmares in a while. Quitting quidditch was the best thing for him. And although he occasionally thought about quidditch—mostly tacked onto thoughts about Jason—he didn’t get the same hunted, nervous feeling from it. He could remember all of his time on the team as if it were a bad dream. (Which, in many cases, it was.)

            Speaking of dreams, Percy kept having dreams.

            Not dreams, he had _dreams._

When he first brought it up to Annabeth, she had looked at him strangely and said, _“This isn’t going to make me sick, right?”_ and it had taken Percy a few moments to realize what she meant.

            No, the _dreams_ weren’t explicit, but they ranged everywhere from almost so to just plain disturbing.

            Percy was thinking about this because of his and Jason’s midterm project: dream analysation. Percy wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to know what his dreams meant. He was definitely sure he didn’t want _Jason_ to know.

            Especially because an alarmingly high number of Percy’s dreams showed Jason front and center.

            Well, Percy assumed it was Jason, however much it annoyed him to be sure of that. The collarbone and jaw that featured so often were the very same, the eyes, the bitten bottom lip, the laugh. Added together, they equaled Jason. But the infuriating thing was that Percy never saw them all together. He tagged and chased flickers and flashes through his head until he woke up burning in the pit of his stomach, but never combined.

            Needless to say, Percy wasn’t exactly clamouring to tell Jason about that.

            Percy was planning to do what he always did when in doubt: completely wing it. He was ready to bullshit his way through this project and get it over with as soon as possible.

-

            Percy met Jason in the library. Percy didn’t like the library on _good_ days, when he was in _good company_. He certainly didn’t like the library when he was trapped there with Jason.

            But Jason had made room for Percy across the table from himself, so Percy sat down. He could meet Jason’s eyes now; there was no one to give him a stupid smirk.

            They were just as Percy remembered them: clear and soft and pale blue and lovely—“ _stop, no…_ ” (the general mantra).

            Jason cleared his throat. Percy had apparently been staring.

            “Yeah,” Percy said, right away and not quite sure what he was responding to. He coughed. “Let’s.” He stopped, coughing again. “Start.”

-

            Percy pulled some basic dreams out of his arse—or, more realistically, out of the dream interpretation book that Annabeth had lent him. He wasn't a fan of lying, but he didn’t really mind it if it was to save his own skin. (He couldn’t even imagine saying, _hey, so sometimes I dream about your collarbone, and then after I wake up I think about it all day. Is that weird? Let’s analyse it!)_

Better to stick with the fake dream about losing his teeth.

-

            For the millionth time that afternoon, Jason looked at the clock on the library wall. Finally, it got too far onto Percy’s nerves.

            “What,” he snapped, still whispering. “Are you afraid it’s a bomb or something?”

            Jason’s gaze whipped back to Percy at lightning speed. “No,” he said. (He didn’t seem offended, not even remotely shaken. Bastard.) “Just… I feel… stifled in here. Always have.”

            Percy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Then he decided _to Hell with that_ , and rolled his eyes anyway. Jason didn’t seem to react except for a tiny smile. (Percy kind of wanted to punch that tiny smile off of Jason’s perfect face.) “ ‘Stifled’? Would you rather we worked out of the quidditch pitch? We can talk about dream meanings while we throw around a quaffle?”

            Jason shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind that, no.” But he seemed to know that Percy wasn’t being serious.

            “Let’s go to the lake,” Percy immediately said. He didn’t like the library, either, and if he had an excuse to get out of it, especially to the lake, he was definitely going to take it.

            Jason met Percy’s eyes, giving him a borderline strange look as he said, “We can’t, remember? One of the sewer pipes broke and emptied into the lake, and now the merpeople are angry, and they won’t let anyone near the lake just in case they get drowned.”

            Percy did know that. He’d just forgotten. Or hoped that Jason had forgotten. Percy didn’t feel like he was in any danger of the merpeople. He’d started picking up mermish in his first year and was able to speak basic conversations by his second.

            “Do…” he stopped, because Jason had met his eyes again, and he suddenly found himself almost unable to speak. He really was going to punch Jason one day. “Do you have somewhere else to go?”

            Jason grinned, standing up from his place at the table and pushing books into his back. “ ‘Course I do. My favorite spot.” He pushed his chair in. He looked at Percy expectantly, encouraging him to follow suit. “Come on.”

            Percy didn’t really have anything better to do in that moment besides think about how much he hated the boy in front of him or think about how stupidly strange his dreams _about_ the boy in front of him were, so he got up and followed Jason.

            It was probably a stupid idea to trust him. Jason as a whole was stupid. Jason was so stupid, and so was Percy, because he hadn’t thought to _ask_ where exactly this place was.

            Percy and Jason were polar opposites, and it showed in their favorite places: Percy was currently peering over the edge of the covered bridge, with an innocently grinning Jason by his side. He felt like he was about to be sick.

-

            Percy took a spot in the very middle of the bridge (width-wise), as it was November, and snowy, and they weren’t a lot of students around. Oh, and also the fact that he was _a million fucking metres off the ground._

He didn’t know what would take his mind off the bridge more: closing his eyes and hoping that he wouldn’t wake up dead, or looking at Jason.

            He tried closing his eyes first, but all he could focus on was the sound of wind going under the covering and between the columns. _Sound._

            So he looked at Jason, who wasn’t paying attention to Percy anymore—Percy was strangely grate for that, really, he didn’t want to be seen—just digging through his bag. _Movement. Sound._ Percy went back to closing his eyes.

            He couldn’t seem to get enough air in his lungs, and every breath he took seemed to get shorter and shorter. His stomach was floating up in his ribcage, but not in a _pleasant_ way or a _Jason_ way. In an _I think I’m going to be sick_ way. He ground his palms against the rough stone under him, trying to trick himself into thinking it was the actual ground. (It didn’t work.)

            There were palms on Percy’s shoulders then, tentative, a muffled voice that he couldn’t quite hear over the ringing in his ears—or was that the wind of the bridge?

            _Sound, sound, sound._ The palms pressed harder; Percy’s hearing snapped back.

            “Percy,” Jason said. Percy lightly cracked open his eyes to see a distressed-looking Jason crouched in front of him. Jason continued, “…You alright?”

            It took Percy a few seconds just to focus on Jason, simply because he was so _close._ Uncomfortably close, actually. Percy pushed him slightly backward. He swallowed the nerves and bile that had been rising in his throat and managed, “Yeah. I’m—fine.”

            (He thought of the ground so horrifyingly far below. He was completely fine.)

            Jason settled on the ground across from him, looking somewhat uneasy still. (Like _he_ had anything to be nervous about. He could practically fly _without_ a broom.)

            Percy didn’t have anywhere to focus except for Jason, which he couldn’t help thinking wasn’t that great for his health, but the other option was completely _losing_ it, and he wasn’t exactly happy to do that, either.

            After a while, Jason abruptly stopped talking about whatever divination stuff he’d been rambling on about (Percy had been blocking it out) and regarded Percy strangely. Confused. And maybe—although Percy rarely saw this emotion on Jason’s face—a little annoyed.

            “Are you…” he trailed off for a moment as Percy finally managed to meet his eyes, then picked back up again, “…actually okay? Because you kind of look like…” he stopped, and Percy guessed he had begun to glare or something, because Jason’s expression soured even more. Jason said, “Do you think I brought you up here to kill you or something? Why do you look like that?”

            Percy often found himself to be an idiot around Jason at the best of times, but that particular time he really outdid himself. He didn’t know if it was the height of the bridge and the panic in his chest making him particularly arseish, but what he did was just dripping in grade-A snark.

            The first thing he said, which was not by any means what he had planned to say, was, “That—that’s a perfectly reasonable assumption.”

            Jason just looked hurt. Which, for the first time in… all he could remember, actually, was not the reaction Percy had wanted, in fact it was just inconveniencing to fight with Jason just then when all he wanted was to get off that stupid _bridge_.

            “Why don’t you trust me?”

            Silence. The first intelligent response Percy could think of was, “You’ve never given me a reason to.”

            Jason fired back, actually looking angry since the first time Percy had ever spoken to him, “I’ve never given you a reason _not_ to!”

            “Oh, _that’s_ not true.”

            The expression on Jason’s face was a gut-twisting combination of hurt and frustration. There was silence as Jason looked around wildly for a few seconds, and Percy thought for a moment that maybe Jason had finally gone insane. But, after a short silence (apart from the roaring wind), he stood, making his way to the edge of the bridge.

            “What the _fuck_ are you _doing_?”

            Percy could see Jason (who’s back was turned), flinch at Percy’s use of language, but he proceeded to wave Percy off and crouch on the lip of the bridge’s wall. Percy stood up, then, staring in horror.

            “Are you going to fucking _jump_?”

            Jason looked back at Percy like he was absolutely mad. Which, Percy guessed, they really both were, at that moment.

            Jason stood in the opening of the bridge, barely fitting through the narrow doorway that was typically used for gazing at the scenic view, not staging warped and suicidal fear exercises.

            Jason didn’t move. His face was set like it was stone, and Percy thought that maybe he actually _had_ gone insane. He looked so determined that Percy thought he might never move again.

            “I haven’t done anything to make you mistrust me,” Jason said.

            So _that_ was what this was about. Shit way to handle it, Percy thought, and a shit thing to have an issue over in the first place. Too Gryffindor.

            “I mean, besides the fact that I really hate you. And wouldn’t trust you if you saved my life a million times or not.” (The last bit was something that he had stolen from some of Annabeth’s books. She read them out loud at any chance she could get. For advertisement or practice, Percy didn’t know.)

            Jason just stared at Percy, as if he really thought Percy was being irrational. Percy was tempted to point out that _Jason_ was the one standing on the edge of a fucking _bridge_.

            “So I don’t trust you,” Percy said, mainly to kill the silence. “What about it? We’re not friends. It doesn’t explain why you’re standing up there.”

            Jason took his hands down from where he had been securing himself by the stone on either side of him, and dropped his arms to his sides. “I haven’t done _anything_ ,” he said.

            “And I’d like to keep it that way.” Percy should’ve walked away right then and there.

            But Jason’s expression held him fast. His eyes were as close to his sister’s as Percy thought he would ever get to see them—not sharp, he didn’t think they could ever become sharp, but stiff. Steely. Almost more grey than pale blue, but perhaps that was the lighting of the shady bridge, not Jason himself.

            “There’s no reason for you not to trust me. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

            _We most certainly are not, I just said we aren’t,_ Percy wanted to answer. But he had found himself quite unable to speak.

            But Jason, despite the face that Percy must have been making, just continued, “So, do whatever you want.”

            Jason was still attempting to stand firmly in the cut, but Percy could see the trembling of his calves. How easy he’d be to push. _Jason’s letting me do this._ Then his second, more horrified thought: _Jason thinks I’d actually consider doing this._

He wouldn’t ever push Jason. Obviously. Sometimes he might wish that Grace were dead, but he wasn’t an actual _murderer_. And he couldn’t leave until Jason got down from there.

            And Jason just stared at him. Not holding himself up at all. So easy to push.

            What the _fuck_.

            Percy still couldn’t speak. (What the _fuck_?)

            Jason didn’t seem to be moving anytime soon; Percy did the only thing he could think of, and lunged forward, grabbing Jason’s wrist and tugging him forward.

            _What the fuck._

Jason stumbled forward, but he was off the ledge, and Percy heart rate returned somewhat back to normal. (Jason-normal, that is.)

            What the fuck.

            “What the fuck?” Percy asked, grabbing Jason’s other wrist as Jason himself still stumbled. He stumbled into Percy, causing Percy to stumble, and for a moment he thought they were both going to fall out of the bridge and die spectacularly, but his back hit solid rock. He let himself anchor to that stone, and gain the ability to speak again.

            “What the _fuck_?” seemed to be all he was really able to say.

            Jason just stared. He almost seemed embarrassed. Now that Percy had broken that atmosphere—whatever that atmosphere had been—(repetitive _“what the fucks?”_ tended to do that) he evidently saw just how stupid the whole thing had been.

            Jason was still shaking. (Part of him really had thought that Percy would push him, hadn’t he?) Percy just gripped his wrists harder.

            Jason was blushing impossibly red—he was definitely embarrassed by his own drama—and just stumbled closer.

            Percy forced Jason to look up (because it wasn’t his fault, because he couldn’t handle this, because Jason was being a fucking _idiot_ ), and stared straight at his face.

            “Fucking idiot,” he whispered, angrier than he thought he would sound. “What are you _thinking_?”

            Jason just shrugged, trying not to meet Percy’s gaze but being forced to, eyes back to their soft blue. Percy was gripping his wrists so hard he could see the pain on Jason’s face; he didn’t let go.

            Once Percy had repeated his question, making it clear that he wanted an actual answer, Jason managed, “I’m just—frustrated. I don’t know. You’re—it’s frustrating.”

            Percy didn’t know what to make of that. The fact that he wouldn’t trust Jason was ‘frustrating’? Jason _himself_ was frustrating to Percy. This was the closest he’d ever get to legally punching him, and it was killing him inside.

            But Percy didn’t ask what Jason meant. He just spat, “Alright, but don’t be a _fucking idiot_. Or can you avoid that?”

            Jason didn’t answer. Only kept Percy’s gaze (Gryffindor) and kept a fast pulse under Percy’s fingers (Gryffindor). He was so close. He was so close, so close, so close— _I could close that gap,_ Percy thought. _I could just—_ and he broke Jason’s gaze. He tossed Jason’s hands down and grabbed his bag, walking from the bridge as fast as he could without running, because running was defeat, and if there was one thing Percy wouldn’t let Jason do (besides jump off a bridge), it was beat him in something he knew he could win.

            Jason shouted his name. Percy took care to walk faster and not look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there's a spoiler in this note don't read it if you don't want a spoiler. (it's a light one but still.)
> 
> yoooo are yall excited for the Gay That is Quickly Approaching 'cause i am
> 
> SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER: 
> 
> (SPOILER WARNING: the 'friend' part of the enemies to friends to lovers is coming soon ayyy SPOILER WARNING SPOILER WARNING NOPE NOPE NOPE)
> 
> SPOILER EWWWWWW
> 
> ok it's over.  
> have a nice day. you look pretty today.


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoop dee doodle yay friendship
> 
> hA

The next time Jason was brought up in conversation was by Rachel in the Slytherin boys’ dormitory.

            She sat back against one of the bedposts, Percy against the headboard, the curtains pulled and spelled tightly around them.

            They were just talking, but the repercussions of being caught alone in (or just _on_ ) a bed with a girl when you lived with young teenage boys was not exactly something Percy wanted to sort through at that point.

            (Rachel probably would’ve found it funny. Percy would _not_.)

            She said, after a period of comfortable silence (they had been talking about why girls could go into boy’s rooms but not vice versa), “So, I heard from Charlotte—who heard from Isla who heard from Aaron who heard from Cian—that Jason Grace is a suicidal maniac who tried to jump off a bridge and that _you_ saved his life.”

            Percy stared at her for a moment. She was regarding him strangely—wrinkled nose, a cross between confusion, disbelief, and humour. He couldn’t tell if she was taking any of it seriously, or just trying to get under his skin.

            (Percy hadn’t told anyone about the bridge, mostly because he found it so stupid. Jason had stood up on the edge of a bridge and waited for Percy to kill him just to gain his trust. Who _does_ that?)

            He hadn’t _planned_ to tell anyone about the bridge.

            But he guessed someone had seen it. Or heard it. Or whatever. Didn’t matter, because people knew. And now Percy had to answer questions—or worse, defend Jason.

            He sighed. Rachel raised an eyebrow.

            “ _No_ ,” Percy said (he was already becoming tired of this explanation), “I didn’t ‘save his life’. He wasn’t going to jump. He was just being stupid and—” Percy’s voice faltered, “—making a joke.” Rachel snorted, and Percy caught her smile. He said, “And you can’t trust Charlotte.”

-

            Percy didn’t pass that divination project. He really didn’t see how either of them could: he wasn’t paying attention, and Jason was too busy making some show of chivalry and trust.

            (Jason didn’t pass, either, but Percy tried not to care about that.)

            It was almost Christmas holiday, fourth year, so Percy couldn’t really make himself care about his own marks, anyway. It seemed to constantly be snowing, the grounds blanketed and the windows frosted, the cold leaking through the stone walls and floors and into the school so the old ladies in the paintings changed into their winter shawls.

            Percy’s last class of Tuesdays was Herbology, at which he was neither good nor bad, as he had both a tendency to forget about or destroy plants, or have them turn out just magnificently.

            He always managed to be late to Herbology on Tuesdays, as he came right from potions in the dungeons, and had to go all the way out to the greenhouses.

            Percy was late that particular Tuesday, and the snow was almost up to his knees. It didn’t help that he wasn’t really tall, either. He considered just skipping Herbology, but Annabeth was always able to see through excuses, and she was always one to enforce proper class attendance.

            (Percy Jackson’s mild fear of Annabeth Chase was most of what kept him alive at school.)

            There was a crunching in the snow behind him as someone either much taller or much faster than Percy walked. A few moments later, he was passed by Jason, who dropped back to be in stride with Percy after a second or two.

            Percy tried to speed up in order to lose Jason… but he really couldn’t.

            Jason smiled cheerfully—if seeming rather forced—at him. Percy stared straight ahead. Silent crunching.

            “I’m… sorry. About. _That_ … Sorry.”

            For a moment, Percy didn’t think that Jason was talking to him. Then Jason followed up the silence with, “Percy?”

            Surprisingly, the first thing out of Percy’s mouth was, “It’s Perseus.” It had never bothered him before, in fact Percy normally despised when people called him Perseus, but suddenly hearing Jason call him _Percy_ seemed too… too _something_. And Percy wanted however he was connected to Jason to be a _nothing_.

            Jason, infuriatingly, took it in stride. “Oh. Sorry about that, too, then, I guess. Perseus.”

            “Whatever.”

            Maybe Jason was distracted, or maybe Percy just got a little more detest to put a spring in his step at that moment, because he was able to pass Jason.

            “I was thinking,” Jason called, jogging up to walk with Percy again.

Percy tugged his bag up on his shoulder and rolled his eyes. “Was it hard?”

Jason didn’t even seem to hear him say that (which annoyed Percy) as he continued, “I was _thinking_ that since you don’t think we’re friends—”

“—We’re not.”

“—We could, y’know, actually _try_ to fix that.”

“Fix what?” Jason seemed like he was about to speak when Percy continued, “My unfixable hatred of you?”

“Actually, yeah. I was thinking we could… like, actually try to be friends? Because we were over the summer, I think. And that was great—I did tell you how much I love your town, right?—and I just thought maybe instead of doing stuff wrong that I don’t even _know_ about and offending you, we could try… _not_ doing that.” Jason threaded fingers through his hair, grabbing a chunk and pulling nervously. “Merlin, I’m not making any sense, am I?” He apologized again after that, which just served to annoy Percy further.

“How about we try you pissing off?”

“I don’t know what I did wrong!”

“Almost jumped off a _bridge_.”

“Before that.”

“You’re an annoying twat with a self-obsession problem.”

Jason growled. (Like, actually growled. Like a dog.) (What the fuck.) When he talked, his voice was completely normal. “I’ll… lay off,” he said, “for now, I guess. But I don’t think I’ll stop trying. I think it’s in both of our best interests. Piper thinks so, too.”

So Piper had put him up to this. Percy wasn’t sure if that made it easier or harder to refuse.

Percy stared at the ground, mocking Jason under his breath as he walked, _“I think it’s in both of our best interests,”_ when Jason grabbed the hood of his robe.

Percy batted Jason’s hand off as Jason said, “You were about to walk into the door.”

The greenhouse door was in front of them, sure enough, and before Percy could do anything, Jason reached to open it for both of them.

-

            “Well, what do you want from him?” Rachel asked. Her and Percy were in the position they always were when they skipped dinner. (Rachel had started stealing food during lunch in their second year, and as they were each other’s only Slytherin friends, they found it more fun to just eat in the common room.) Percy sat in one of the throneish chairs by the fire, the way one was supposed to but squished to the side, and Rachel sat perpendicular to him, her legs over his lap.

            “ _Nothing_ ,” Percy answered. “He just wants to be fucking friends.”

            “ ‘Fucking friends’?” Rachel inquired. “As in, friends who fuck?”

            Percy slammed his head back against the chair. “No. For God’s sake, Rach, _no_.”

            Rachel sniggered. “You wouldn’t mind it, though.”

            Percy was tempted to shove her legs off. He didn’t, though. “Why are we even friends?”

            “Ask Jason Grace.”

            That time Percy _did_ shove her legs off, because she had a bloody point. Rachel laughed, because she knew.

-

            Over Christmas holiday, Percy had lots of time to think about it. The Not-Friendship. He had lots of time to think about Jason.

            _“I fucking thought about kissing him,”—_ he would confront the thought in his brain. _“And I still do.”_

            That was true, that last part. Even was Jason wasn’t around, it would sometimes creep into his head. The tiny scar on Jason’s lip; how it would feel against his own. To trail his fingertips wherever he pleased.

            His mind ran away with that fancy while he slept. He would wake despising every second of it, and that was what kept him entirely sane—it was still loathing. Infatuation or not, the warm pull in his stomach or not, heartbeat or _not_ , he could still say he hated Jason. He would replay every moment in his head like a broken and guilty record because maybe he thought in pictures, but he would stop his own pulse before he said they weren’t vivid.

            But Christmas approached, and Christmas passed, and Percy survived.

-

            That wasn’t the end of it. It only got worse when Jason was near him. After Christmas holiday—Percy guessed it was because of Jason and Piper’s friendship plan—Jason started _showing up_ places. He would show up on the shore of the loch, in courtyards, would walk with Percy and Piper in hallways, and _there was nothing Percy could do about it._

Well, there was something he could do about it. Technically, he _could_ tell Jason to fuck off. But how are you supposed to look someone like that in the eye and say, “ _can you maybe never come near me again_ ” instead of “ _I’ve thought about kissing your neck_ ”? He would look up at Jason, Jason would meet his eyes, Jason would smile, and Percy would decide he was never looking anyone in the eyes ever again.

-

            Percy sat in the stands of the quidditch pitch. It was six-thirty AM on Sunday, misty and cold with snow still on the higher stands, and he was alone.

            Well, not entirely. Tiny, blue-robed people zoomed and zipped on brooms on the pitch, seeming rather far away. He held in his lap a book that he was supposed to be studying from, and that he would tell Annabeth after her practice was over that he _had_ studied from, and that he had not just been staring off into space. Snow fell onto the pages and melted into little wet spots the longer he stalled turning the pages. He was freezing.  
            He didn’t notice when Jason climbed the stands at sat down next to him (in fact, looking back, he probably seemed standoffish). He didn’t notice Jason at all until Jason’s fingers ghosted over Percy’s shoulder and he said, “Hey.”

            Idiot.

            Percy felt like there was not nearly enough fabric between Jason’s fingertips and his shoulders, but he didn’t move away. He tightened his grip on his book and focused on the new snowy blotches on the page.

            He finally said, “ _Hey_.” He was also an idiot.

            “You seem cold.”

            “I’m not.”

            Percy worked up the courage to look up at Jason then. Jason was wearing his quidditch gloves, the ones that Annabeth offered to buy for both of them back when he played but Percy had turned down because they seemed so stupid: thin black fabric, cut off to expose the fingers, grip pads on the palm. Jason adjusted his scarf. Percy didn’t think it was doing much; Jason’s cheeks were still pink with cold.

            And Percy’s chest leapt up, and he cursed himself, and he cursed Jason.

            “You’re waiting for Annabeth?” Jason asked. Percy nodded, he was still staring, he needed to stop.

            “You’re here ’cause Piper told you to?” Percy asked.

            Jason laughed, small and almost dark. (Percy thought that was his favorite of Jason’s laughs. It was the one that didn’t make Percy feel like Jason was some sociopathic bravery machine. It was _sarcastic_.)

            “Yeah. But it’s fine. I think I’d come here anyway.”

            Percy studied Jason as he stared out over the pitch, quizzical and apprehensive. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jason shrugged. There was silence. Percy braced himself, as he felt like some giant, Gryffindor-ish speech was going to come from Jason any time.

Sure enough, Jason took a deep breath, and started to talk. “I like being with you,” he started, “you’re great. One of the most entertaining people I’ve ever met. And I want to hang out with you more. But I’m also pretty sure you hate me.”

The way Jason spun it, everything was so incredibly simple. Percy couldn’t stop himself from laughing when he said, “You think?” Unfortunately, it took most of the bite out of his words.

And then Jason laughed when he said, “Yeah. I do.”

Everything died down, there was some shouting from the pitch, but there was a general, settling silence over the pair. Percy closed his book. Jason said, “Perseus?”

Percy turned again to meet Jason’s eyes. He seemed to have to do that a lot.

“Yeah?”

“Do you hate me?”

Percy’s immediate thought was _yes._ Another smaller, but just as immediate thought was _no._ Percy didn’t say either of those. The way Jason was looking at him made him do something very un-Percy-like. He took the time to think about what he was going to say.

Percy certainly didn’t hate _looking_ at Jason. From what he felt now, he didn’t hate talking to him. He hated thinking about him, he thought, but maybe he just hated thinking about himself thinking about Jason. (It was plausible. Maybe.)

He didn’t like the feeling of hating Jason. He didn’t really want to feel it; he felt, at least recently, like he had to. He didn’t want to know what would become of him if he didn’t stick to it.

He missed that summer.

Percy said, “I don’t know.”

Jason said, “Do you want to hate me?”

“I don’t know. I think…” Percy stopped. He didn’t start again. This was the part when he should’ve left the stands; the part when he normally did. He stayed put. “I don’t know.”

He didn’t look at Jason, but he was almost sure that he had nodded. He heard Jason say, “Do you want to try… _not…_ maybe-hating me?”

He looked over at Jason: at his stupid gloves, his dorky and useless scarf, and his even dorkier Gryffindor quidditch jumper. Close proximity. Tentative smile.

_He missed that summer._

His heart was pounding. (Close proximity. Tentative smile.) Maybe he should stop trying to convince himself it felt terrible. He was sick of feeling terrible.  
            “I…” he stopped. He started back up, “I think I want to.”

Jason’s smile broke out into a bitten grin. Percy rewarded his previous conversational bravery by letting himself study it.

“Right,” Percy said after Jason just smiled at him like an idiot for ten seconds. “Let’s do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next update will happen probably around late monday EST. thanks mates.


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so look i finished this early.   
> im gonna TRY and write a whole chapter tomorrow but don't expect it. ok? if i don't update by tomorrow evening i'll tell you when to expect the next update.   
> anyway you're in for a wild emotional ride have fun.

Being friends with Jason Grace was fucking strange. It was strange to go places and see Jason there, and it was stranger to _expect_ him to be there. It was strange to be left with Jason when Piper had something to do, or Annabeth did, or they went somewhere (alone) together—Piper and Annabeth seemed to do that a lot, really. Disappear together.

            When Percy first told Annabeth he and Jason were attempting to make nice, she’d raised an eyebrow and said she owed Piper something from Honeydukes. Piper had been excited enough to bounce on her heels, and Rachel had simply laughed at him.

            Percy felt like he had slightly changed, since The Friendship had begun. It was barely a noticeable change, and it wasn’t really anything that Percy could put his finger on, but if he focused, he felt it. It was good, he guessed, whatever it was.

Jason didn’t change at all, which Percy thought would annoy him, but it didn’t. He also expected himself to still feel hatred towards Jason sometimes. Or at least anger. Or jealousy. But he just couldn’t make himself, not really. He and Jason were so different that it was difficult to be jealous of him.

He felt like he had been forcing the hatred for a while up until the point of The Friendship. (It was astounding what things Percy discovered when he actually went through his thoughts, or perhaps it was mildly embarrassing. Unfortunately, he didn’t do it often.) Now that The Friendship was here, he found it quite obvious that he had gotten over his Gryffindor-jealousy a long time before, although he didn’t know just when. He couldn’t make himself feel much against Jason, most of the time.

That wasn’t to say that everything was fine, either. Every so often, Jason would do something, or say something, and Percy would forget that he wasn’t supposed to want to completely invert Jason’s face with his fist, and he would have to remind himself that, _no, friends don’t maim each other._

He also had to remind himself: _Friend. Jason is my friend._ He wasn’t quite used to that yet. It felt odd. Strange. Which tied back to the original point: being friends with Jason Grace was fucking strange. (But it was getting easier.)

-

            Case in point: Percy leaned against the sidewall of The Three Broomsticks, arms crossed yet still shivering, Jason next to him.

            “You always look cold,” Jason commented.

            Percy curled a fist, rubbing it against the palm of his other hand to generate something close to heat. “It’s my heart.”

            Percy didn’t know how Jason _wasn’t_ cold. Percy would bet that even without his stupid gloves or scarf or anything, he would probably be just fine. Meanwhile, Percy felt like his blood was crystalising.

            Jason fiddled with his scarf uninterestingly for some time, while Percy stared at a couple across the street that looked rather angry. He tried to figure out what they were saying. At the same time, he listened to the clamour coming from inside broomstick cubed, seeing if he could gauge where Piper and Annabeth were. They had said they’d be out by then.

            Before Percy could really process it, Jason had looped his scarf around the back of Percy’s neck. He tucked bits of it snugly into the collar of Percy’s jumper and pushed the edges into Percy’s hands.

            “Your face was turning red,” Jason explained. Percy pulled the scarf up over his nose and cheeks, nuzzling into the fluffy fabric and feeling warmth flush through his jaw. He wrapped the edges around his fingers, and tightened his arms over his chest even further.

            Percy saying, “Thanks, mum,” was muffled, but Jason knocked their shoulders together nonetheless.

            The whole exchange was weird, but Percy couldn’t say he didn’t like it. (Also, and Percy didn’t know if it was detergent or spells or what, but Jason’s clothes always smelled really nice.)

-

            Jason put his stack of papers down on Percy’s table with a light _plop._ “You should help me with these,” he said. He pulled out the chair opposite Percy and leaned forward, attempting to read Percy’s homework upside-down.

            Jason read quietly, his voice over-annunciated and posh, “ _The vampire raids of sixteen twenty-one were some of the most horrifying instances of magical violence in the century—” —_ Percy snatched his papers away.

            Percy tucked his work into his bag. “Help you with what?” Percy’s voice was unusually quiet, as he thought he had seen Madam Pince slink behind one of the shelves in his peripheral vision.

            Jason nudged the papers towards Percy. “This. Potions. I’m awful; you’re a miracle worker. Work a miracle.”

            Percy gave Jason an amused look. Jason said, “My marks are falling faster than I did when Piper hit me with that bludger. Please.”

            Percy stared at him for a few seconds. Then he sighed, resigned, and took the papers, staring at them for a few seconds while trying to decipher Jason’s (much neater) handwriting.

            “What do you mean you don’t know the difference between wolfsbane and monkshood?” He was almost laughing as Jason shrugged.

            “I don’t know,” Jason said, “how do you explain the difference between two plants? Like, one has pointy leaves and the other has round ones? What am I supposed to say?”

            “Jason,” Percy said, still trying not to laugh. (He liked being good at this. He liked being better, at least at something. Maybe that’s not what friends were supposed to feel, but it was good, at least in that moment.) “Jason, it’s a trick question. They’re the same plant.

            Jason stared. “You’re kidding me.”

            “I’m completely not. They’re both names for the same genus of deadly, purple-flowering plant. Same magical properties, everything.”

            “…I’m an _idiot_.”

            Percy shoved the papers back. “Not anything I haven’t said before.”

            Jason pushed the papers towards Percy again. “That’s not it,” he said. “You can’t solve my stupidity that fast.” He tapped the stack. “Four more pages to go.”

            It went on like that for an hour, maybe, with banter that was a little more prickly on Percy’s end, and that lip bite of Jason’s that Percy was absolutely certain was going to be the end of him, and very little actual learning.

            And Percy was happy.

-

            It was a tiring maneuver. Stay friendly with Jason, hold his tongue and his hands and his thoughts, go to bed, replay it all in his head until he fell asleep, _dreams,_ wake up, suppress it, stay friendly with Jason.

            He just wanted to sleep. And kiss Jason. But mostly sleep.

            He had never kissed anyone before. But he had thought about it. (Had Jason kissed anyone? Surely. Maybe? Best not to think about it.)

            Rachel, who somehow just knew what he was thinking (Percy wasn’t sure he wanted to know what kind of dark divination she got into), told him that his thoughts were _“horny and loud, and frankly annoying”,_ but sometimes he couldn’t stop. Jason was too easy to think about.

            Jason was right, at least. It had been in both of their best interests. For one, Percy only felt like shit some of the time instead of all of it, and it made being around Jason… _easier._ Which he guessed should have been obvious, but that wasn’t what he meant. Easier to talk to him, when he didn’t have to think about processing what he was saying.

            Jason was easy.

            (God, that came out wrong.)

            He should probably stop thinking. Rachel was glaring at him.

-

            Stone against his back, pressed close but not trapped, his fingers and his lips catching on lip and neck and jaw, and he was in control.

            He couldn’t tell if the thrumming of his chest was the height of the bridge of the closeness, the closeness, the closeness. He broke, and he breathed, and he went back.

            _Move_ , he thought, _move before this ends_. And he was no longer the one pressed against stone, but there was a sharp thud against the other wall. His arms were arrows, spears. They drove themselves into the wall and held fast, because he wasn’t going to let this one go, there was something in his chest and he didn’t want to go.

            He broke, and he breathed, and his hair was brushed out of his face and there was a laugh that wasn’t his and everything focused a million times more and the world froze. That same laugh, light, airy, and broad but tinged with dark humour. It welled up in his own gut, the feeling that laugh gave him.

            Percy pulled Jason close. His mind slowed down as he pressed his cheek into Jason’s shoulder and he realized that this wasn’t ending, and he could do whatever he wanted, and _he was on the bridge and would like to leave right then, immediately._

Jason tensed under him; Percy guessed that he was too harsh. He detangled himself. Jason kept him semi-close, busying himself with brushing the hair out of Percy’s face.

            “You alright?”

            Percy shook his head. Jason reached for his hand, saying, “I knew we shouldn’t have come up here. Merlin, I’m an idiot.”

            Percy didn’t have the zeal to joke, not with the bridge trembling beneath his feet and the pitching of his vision.

            They found themselves in the stairwell, the great cubeish stone ones, not the moving ones. Once inside, Jason’s hand curled around Percy’s hipbone, and he was still obsessively brushing through the hair that fell into Percy’s eyes. Maybe because it annoyed him. Maybe because it calmed Percy down. (How did he know it calmed Percy down?)

            “I’m sorry,” Jason said, “I don’t know what I—I thought you’d be fine? God, I’m thick, I just—”

            Jason’s lips were soft against Percy’s, running quick and surprised at first, as he was still talking. Then he slowed, joining Percy in his lip-biting stupor.

            When they broke again, Jason was silent. Shameful, almost. He didn’t meet Percy’s eyes, but after a few seconds said, “I’m sorry, though, really.”

            Percy heard himself say, _I know,_ like he was standing on a different planet. His thumb brushed against Jason’s jaw without him telling it to.

            Jason said, “I didn’t think, Perce. I l—”

-

            The magical clock on his ceiling said seven AM, Saturday. Percy stared, sure he was completely red, and thought about how he knew exactly what dream-Jason had been going to say. He didn’t want to think about how dream-Percy would respond. (What he wanted to think about even less was the fact that dream-Percy and real-Percy were the same person.)

            (It was the first time anything like that had been said. It was the first time either of them had spoken at all. It was the first time they had held each other, and Jason had touched him lightly and Percy was able to keep him close for safety instead of lust, and he wanted it, he wanted it, he wanted it.)

            He was supposed to meet with Jason and Annabeth by the lake in an hour. He was supposed to be able to _look Jason in the eye_.

            He had to walk past that stairwell to get there. His chest clenched. His lips still buzzed along with the back of his brain.

            He was so incredibly fucked.


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOAH GUYS STORY TIME. so i go to a boarding school rite. (Rite.) and the nuns just cut off the frickin power for the week because exams and cheating and shit and ewwww. so yeah that's why i haven't updated. new chap comin soon but for now here's this ^_^

_One._

It was beginning to get slightly warmer, at least, by the tenth of April. Everything was still strange, but not the kind of strange that’s impossible to deal with.

Percy sat in the alcove under the stairwell, tempted to cast _Lumos_ but knowing that it would give him away. He pulled his knees up to his chest, rested his chin on them and sighed. He felt absolutely nothing.

-

            _Two._

_It was beginning to get slightly warmer, at least, by the tenth of April. Soft, pearly light drifted from the tip of Percy’s wand, cast upon the even softer curve of Jason’s smile. They sat together under the stairwell, Jason leaning against the wall and Percy’s head in his lap._

_Jason reached down to twist his fingertips in the more wild bits of Percy’s hair, his moving hand casting monstrous shadows on the wall. Percy really couldn’t remember why they were there, but he decided that he didn’t really care._

_-_

Jason slid into the seat across from Percy, setting two bottles on the table, one that he slid across to Percy. When Jason spoke, Percy could barely hear him over the bustle and chatter of the Three Broomsticks (He really didn’t like it in there—too much going on—but it was raining heavily outside, and magically deflecting it took too much energy), “You’ve seen Piper?”

            Percy shook his head, eyeing the drink. (Butterbeer, he was pretty sure, although the label had been obscured. Which was strange, as Percy could’ve sworn Jason didn’t like it.) He didn’t take it. “Off with…?”

            Jason nodded, already starting to stand up. He finished Percy’s sentence for him, “Annabeth.”

            Jason gave a rushed half-wave as he shouldered through people and slipped outside, leaving his drink on the table. Percy made himself wait twenty seconds before grabbing both bottles and leaving himself. He stood outside, stagnant against the sidewall and leaning back, lightly clinking the bottles against the stone. Annabeth had promised to meet him in half an hour, he realized, looking at the clock. He couldn’t see Jason, looking for his other friends or otherwise, so he continued to stand (both awkward and alone) against the wall and clink.

-

            One.

            Perhaps the little violet ball of light floating up in the canopy would keep his head at bay. Percy let it sink into his eyes before closing them. He pulled his sheets over his shoulder; the dungeons, even in late May, were close to constantly frigid.

_-_

_Two._

_Percy had always imagined that it would take conversation, but it didn’t, at least not that time. Also, Percy was glad that he couldn’t see Jason’s face, as the last time he’d seen Jason sleeping—potions, the morning after the criminal practice that had followed Gryffindor’s biggest loss—he’d looked like a fucking kid. (Which he was, really. Almost fifteen.)_

-

            One.

            “ _Premeva Hemera.”_ A second sphere joined the first one floating above Percy’s head, this one a cheery yellow-orange, like a miniature sun. That time, he fell faster into sleep.

-

            _Two._

_Jason’s arm was cast over Percy’s stomach, carelessly as Jason slept. It was close to their only point of contact, and a meager one at that, but Percy undecidedly stayed awake and walked his hand along the jagged bones of Jason’s wrist like a tiny person, so light as to not wake him up._

-

            Rachel said, “You should tell him.”

            Her sock-covered heels jabbed into Percy’s back uncomfortably, but he didn’t complain. He was kneeling on the floor of the Slytherin common room as to be closer to the low-set table on which he was (supposedly) writing homework. Rachel sat in the chair behind him (the one he could’ve been using) and used her position to badger him as much as humanly possible—both verbally and physically.

            After Rachel spoke, Percy simply twisted to stare at her. “Tell _who,_ _what_.”

            “Whom,” Rachel correct, and Percy didn’t even know if she was right or not, but he ignored that in order to listen to her continuation, “And I meant Jason. You should tell him that you fancy him.”

            Percy stared for a few more seconds, both judging and quizzical. “You’re actually mad.”

            Rachel shoved his back with her foot. “No, I’m _not_ , and you _should_ do it.”

            Percy rolled his eyes, meaning to ignore her, turn back to the homework he was (supposed to be) writing, and let it go. But the tapping on his back became insistent, and he whipped around again, this time annoyed.

            Rachel kept up her poking as she demanded, “One good reason.”

            “What?”

            “Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t tell him.”

            “There’s a million reasons! And I don’t even like him like that!”

            Rachel narrowed her eyes for a moment before reaching forward and not-so-lightly slapping her palm against Percy’s cheek. It was more shock than pain, but Percy was suddenly glad there was no one else in the common room to witness the conversation.

            “Liars get slapped,” Rachel excused.

            Percy cradled his cheek as he repeated, “There’s a _million_ reasons.”

            Rachel smiled brightly, Percy regarded her ruefully. She said, “I only need one.”

            Percy couldn’t tell her anything he actually thought. He tried to think of a rational-sounding reason to get her off his back.

            Rachel started lightly laughing, ninety percent snark. “I can hear your thoughts, Perseus.”

            Percy continued to glare at Rachel deciding to say, “ ’Cause we just started being friends”—(it was still weird to say that, ‘friends’)—“and what would he think after I told him? That I’m trying to come onto him?”

            Rachel cocked her head, inquisitive and annoyingly innocent. “That _is_ what you’re trying to do.”

            “No, it’s not!”

            Rachel gave an exasperated noise from the back of her throat. There was silence for a few seconds, without even Rachel’s poking, and Percy turned back to his work, this time determined to actually write it.

            After a while, Percy heard Rachel draw a breath, and he instinctively groaned—he should have known that she wasn’t going to let it go.

            “I _hope_ you want him to be more than your friend.”

            “That’s sadistic as fuck.”

            Rachel reached out to jab the back of his neck. “Not what I meant.”

            “Don’t want to know what you meant.”

            Rachel made a contemptuous noise that made it very clear that she was about to tell Percy what she had meant anyway. “I meant that _I’m_ your friend.” Percy could feel her shudder. “And I hope you don’t think like that about _me_.”

            “ _Shut up_.”

            “Like you could make me.”

            Percy’s hand crept toward his pocket, _Silencio_ forming on his lips, but he stopped halfway, deciding that it would just make his life easier to ignore Rachel’s goading.

            Rachel settled into silence as Percy scratched at his paper endlessly with his quill, rewriting the same word for the millionth time. Then she said, “You _should_ tell him.”

            Percy didn’t respond.

-

            “I’ll visit,” Annabeth promised, pressed close to Percy and her cheek against his. She smelled like vanilla and lemons amongst the urban oil and smoke smell of King’s Cross. She pulled away, adjusting her messenger bag over her shoulder. “I promise.”

            Percy peered over Annabeth’s shoulder, at the sandy-haired Frederick Chase waiting patiently a few crowded metres away. Frederick Chase was staring, Percy could tell, but he tried not to look like he noticed.

            Percy already knew that Sally was waiting outside with the taxi, and he had to hurry. So he nodded, saying, “I’ll miss you,” and turning to leave before he found himself hugging her again. She grinned and stopped him by the shoulder, reaching up to thread her fingers in a ruffle through Percy’s hair. It hung almost to his jaw by that point, and he couldn’t remember the last time that Sally had convinced him to get it cut. It curled softly the longer he left it unattended, and got even more wild, which he almost detested enough to spell it short.

            “Get a fucking haircut,” she said, still smiling, and turned to leave with her father.

            Percy couldn’t find Piper, Rachel, or Jason, which he guessed was his own fault, as he hadn’t bothered to look for them when he first left the train. He resolved himself to writing (he’d surely forget) and headed towards the taxi and his long-awaited mother.

-

            _13/7_

_Im in america again!! Which you probably knew about but still. This time its not for a tour, its just for fun which is literally the best thing ever. my dad has all sorts of old friends to meet and most of them are pretty nice blokes. Hes trying to teach me how to surf but im kind of bleeding terrible. It’s pretty late and my hand is starting to hurt. i guess Ill talk to you later Percy._

_~Piper_

_-_

_19/7_

_Percy, you’ll never guess what my Dad agreed to today. (Today being the nineteenth, you’re probably going to get this later, Smith is fantastically slow.) I get to stay in Llaneilian over Christmas holiday next year! (Only if your mother agrees, obviously. Miss Sally, if you’re reading this, please agree.)_

_If you’re with Piper right now, hug her for me. ~~Also, hug Jason for me, too~~. (Never mind, scratch that, you’ll kill me.) But certainly Piper. I’ll see you soon. _

_All my love,_

_Annabeth_

_-_

_28/7_

_Fuckin cunt_

_Love, Rachel Elizabeth Dare._

_-_

_2/8_

_Short question, have you cut your hair yet? In my head you have, but I’d like to know if I’ve been talking to a llama this whole time or not._

_Annabeth_

_-_

_20/8_

_Were back in dublin for a couple shows before school starts. on the 28 we go to london. will i see you there? if so ill buy you ice cream._

_~Piper_

_-_

_30/8_

_You didn’t respond to my last letter and I feel like that means that I may have offended you. I apologize for that. It was all in good fun. Prick._

_Signed contemptably, Rachy._

_-_

Jason never wrote. Percy was mostly glad. He didn’t know how many times he would’ve had to scrap and rewrite his response.

            He responded to everyone else’s letters, though. (Except for Rachel’s first one. He had been laughing too hard and forgot.)

            On the thirtieth, he and Sally left for London. Shopping was easy (he didn’t run into Piper), and going through it for the fifth time made it pass remarkably quickly.

            Come September first, Percy was the first one of his friends on the train, nabbing the back compartment like he had for so many years, taking the corner seat, and waiting for everyone else.

            Annabeth arrived next, taking her token spot next to Percy and sidling up to his torso, leaning and reading. His ribs didn’t tighten anymore; it was all natural.

            “You’ve seen Piper?” he asked her. She shook her head. They hadn’t even said hello. They didn’t really have to. Percy leaned his temple against the window and watched everyone saying goodbye to their parents, for the first time, the fifth time like him, or the seventh, their last.

            Finally, he had to say it. “You’ve seen Jason?”

            Annabeth shook her head again, slower this time. Percy felt his stomach relax. He didn’t want Jason seeing this scene, this position. He wouldn’t get it. Or, he’d get it too much. (It was always like that with Jason.)

After some silence, Annabeth eyed the tightly closed compartment door and the strange and lingering sparseness of the train’s passengers. She said, her voice quite small, “You really do fancy him, though, don’t you?”

Percy sighed. He heard footsteps, panicked as the last few passengers to get on were forced to find seats, meaning the back of the Express was about to be flooded with people, hopefully including Piper and Rachel and Jason.    

“Yeah,” he said. Rachel reached the compartment before Piper or Jason. She smiled through the glass. Percy continued, “I do.”


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things:  
> -my computer is still bleh, this was all typed on my phone  
> -my phone apparently doesn't do italics so sorry for that  
> -this chapter is all based on a true story. my exboyfriend and i were idiots  
> -onto the chapter wooh!!

Percy knew that it was partially his fault.

Alright, mostly.

But certainly not completely.

It all started when he had agreed to help Jason in potions.

He'd always been kind of helping Jason in potions--the kid needed it, after all--but it was always with trivial things, like homework. Or general studying.

Nothing... Nothing like this.

It was the thirteenth of September, right at the promising start of Percy's fifth year, that it was made known that fifth years could have a project in a core subject of their choice, to complete it in a month, and have a perfunctory raise in extra credit percentage in all other subjects depending on the project's grade.

The plan of action, to Percy, was obvious: do one ridiculously easy potions project (ridiculously easy for him, at least) and save his own arse in literally every other subject.

What he was not expecting, however, was to be sitting and minding his own damn business as Snape (in all his nasally, oil-filled glory) gave his criteria for the project, and have Jason Grace whip around to meet

Percy's eyes as soon as partner-compatible was uttered.  
It was very clear what Jason was proposing. And it was very clear to Percy what he could already hear himself saying.

Jason, in this particular field, had all the expertise of an unconscious infant.

Jason, in this particular field, would be complete deadweight.

Jason, in this particular moment, was staring at Percy across the room with the droning of their lard-dunked professor in the background, hopeful and earnest, excited and unknowingly dangerous.

Percy could probably pull through for the both of them. He nodded.

-

Another thing that was his fault: choosing out of the advanced selections.

The project was set up like this: there were two books of potions to choose from: Magical Drafts and Potions, Volume V, or Holly Extonin's Guide Advanced to Eatable Sorcery.

Percy, of course, had already gone for the advanced approach. He was slightly regretting that, in the library, with a stunned-to-silence Jason staring at the book between them.

"So," Percy said. He decided to take control before Jason could back out--Percy couldn't stop himself from wanting to see where this all went, not now when it was almost humourous how confused Jason was. (He'd said it before, but he liked this. He liked being good at a thing--no, scratch that, he was fucking brilliant. He was fucking brilliant at that one thing. He wanted Jason to know that, even more than he already did.)

"So," Jason repeated. Percy pulled the book towards himself.

"So," Percy half smiled as best he could and flipped to a specific page, pointing. "This one."

Jason peered over the book, Percy joined him, their foreheads alarmingly close. Percy had to reach to brush his hair out of both of their eyes, wondering if Jason thought it was all significant, too. Jason wasn't looking, simply clucking over the book. "That one?" he asked. He looked up to meet Percy's eyes before saying, "seems intense."

"I'm intense."

Jason's expression was alight. They both froze together, Percy's chest perversely warm.

"Right," Jason said. He was smiling, reaching for his bag. "I'm gonna--"

"We're starting tonight," Percy interrupted.

"It's only a couple of hours until curfew."

"We're starting tonight."

Jason gave Percy a strange look, but fell back into his chair. "Alright. Tonight, mister alchemist, whatever you say."

Percy watched Jason as he propped up his cheek with a fist, waiting for Percy's guidance, instruction, something of the sort. Percy found himself tracing the fading illustrations in Holly Extonin's tome. The only thing he could really find himself able to say was, "Alchemy's not potions, Grace."

"You'd be good at both." Jason paused. "Jackson."

They started mapping out what exactly they would need.

-

Perhaps not even potions could save Percy from charms. He stared at the detested essay on the desk in front of him. (What he would've given to use the alleged Ravenclaw method of homework completion.) He could've asked Jason for help, in fact he probably had more than the right to it with covering for Jason and all in potions... But he looked at the clock on the wall. If he made an effort to find Jason just then, they'd be meeting after curfew. Which Percy didn't have a problem with in the slightest, but he knew Jason would abhor it. (Which was endearing, admittedly, but cumbersome.)

Percy stared for a few more seconds.

Then he decided to scrap the essay. It wasn't like it would help him in the long run.

-

Jason met up with him on the way to Herbology. He fell into step with Percy easily, and jostled their shoulders together gently as they both walked. Percy couldn't tell if it was on purpose or not, but Jason seemed to be in a harrowingly good mood, so Percy tried not to dampen it to the best of his ability.

"I've got my stuff," Jason said, quiet. There was a silence that neither of them really wanted to break: deep greens and deathly olives of winter-prepped grass, the shocks of pale lambsear and small white wildflowers soon to leave along with the warmth. Leaves flitted around on invisible currents, settling around on the ground near the pair as they walked.

Jason fit that backdrop, too. Which was aggravating.

"Great," Percy responded. He was pretty sure autumn was his favourite season, but every season was his favourite until the next one came.

Percy admitted, "I haven't got mine."

"I can pay for it, if you'd like," Jason offered immediately. Just then, strangling Percy's answer in his throat and replacing it with an amused huff, Jason stumbled on the hill, pitching forward. Percy grabbed the hook of his elbow and dug his heels into the ground. (It was a stupid decision, really. Jason weighed more than Percy, and Percy wasn't even very strong. Had it not been up to luck, they both would've fallen, Percy making the bigger fool out of both of them.)

But there was no one to watch. So Jason just turned around to offer a smile of thanks. (It was enough.)

"And..." Percy said, on the offer of paying, "you don't have to. It's in the stores, I just... Procrastinate."

"Also," Jason said, his mouth quirking sardonically, "Snape."

Percy laughed; it was both darkish and barkish, mimicking Jason, because Jason was right.

"Yeah, Snape. I swear he hates me."

" 'Cause you're competition."

Percy gave his best faux gag. "God, no."

They stopped at the greenhouse door, and Percy reached for the handle.

"If you need it, though--" Jason said.

Percy smiled at his shoes. "--Yeah."

-

Percy didn't need it. He was just a fucking idiot.

He didn't know what it was that had made the project slip his mind--maybe he had been too sure of himself?

(Which had never happened before, so why did it happen then?)

Regardless, Percy had put off going to the stores for so incredibly long that the project was due in a week; they needed to start brewing that day if they were to finish on time--actually, Percy thought whilst trying his best to calculate in his head, they would be a day late, even if they started just then.

He groaned at himself. (Fucking idiot.)

Jason looked up at him strangely when he did that. They sat in a corner of the library, between to wall-bound shelves, as there was the entirety of Ravenclaw's female fourth-year population sitting at various tables.  
Jason's shoulder was pressed against Percy's, the legs closest to each other (Percy's right and Jason's left) were fitted in length, the book propped against them and Jason's hip.

Percy was almost tempted to wave Jason away. He could get his materials between then and when they started brewing that night. (Even if the stores were closed, he almost convinced himself, I could go out and get it from the lake and not have to tell him. I'd probably freeze. Or drown. Or get expelled. But I'd do it.)  
He wasn't even sure why Jason's disapproval mattered so very much. Well, he knew why, but he still found it to be an incredibly stupid reason.

But, really, he had to say it.

"I don't think there's a chance I could..." pause. Percy ran through what he was saying again in his head; he'd already forgotten. "I need to--because--'cause I kind of forgot--I don't have them. My things."

Jason looked at him for a few moments, then sighed like he was trying not to be disappointed. (Percy had seen that expression used by Jason an awful lot, to a myriad of people, but most often him--granted, Jason was more commonly joking.)

Jason then stood up, tucking the book into his bag and offering a hand to Percy. (Useless information that felt important at the time: Percy didn't take it.)

Jason started to leave the library, apparently just expecting that Percy would follow.  
And he did, but once they were out of the quiet bubble of the library, Percy had to ask, "Where are we going?" He was struggling to keep up with Jason at a normal speed, so he sprinted for a few seconds, falling into step.

"To get your stuff."

"Jason, we can't. The stores closed three days ago."

Jason turned to face Percy as they ducked into a separate corridor. "I know. We're not going to the stores."  
Percy was following Jason up a staircase, was pushed roughly into Jason's side as it swung dangerously to align them in a different direction. Jason kept climbing even as it moved, tugging Percy along by the wrist behind him, completely unbothered.

"You need..." Jason's voice died off as he walked, like he didn't know what to say. Percy took over, reciting the ingredients from memory.

"Onomatyn leeches, lochweed, water spider legs, salamander slime, algae scum, and..." he shrugged. "Lake water."

Jason hummed in understanding. "Well, that's convenient."

Percy stared at him for a few seconds, trying to figure out exactly what he meant by that.

Jason, after a few seconds, noticed his stare and said. "Well, those are all in the lake, yeah?"

Percy paused, struggling to keep up with Jason, who was now twisting to go down a spiral staircase Percy was sure he hadn't even seen before. "Yeah," he said. "But it's gonna be past curfew soon, and we'll never be able to--"

"I'm not failing this," Jason said, insistently pulling Percy by the wrist again down a dark and broad hallway. "I need the credit."

Percy stopped, pulled his hand away from Jason's, stared at him. "I can'ti go in there after curfew. I can't go in there at all."

Jason's entire expression was a challenge. "Since when were you one for rules?"

"Since when were you one for breaking them?"

Jason stared for a few seconds, looking utterly bewildered at Percy's cowardice.

Then he shook his head, seeming almost amused, and continued down the corridor. Percy shouted, "I'm not doing this!" but he still ended up following Jason anyway.

-

The shore of the loch was scratchy and pebbly, cold on the warmest of days and close to freezing on the colder ones.

In late September, the tar-black waters of the lake were a sure death sentence.

Jason stood on the very edge of the ebbing water, the toes of his trainers soaked dark.

When Percy joined him, they both stared down, dreading whatever decision was to come next.

"Fucking terrifying, yeah?"

Jason nodded, was silent for a moment. Then he said, "We've got to go in."

Percy continued to stare at him, less of affection that time and more of unbridled horror.

But Jason was already kicking off his trainers, pulling his jumper over his head. He shucked his undershirt, turning back towards Percy with a look that said he expected him to do the same.

Percy was busy gaping. It was almost cold enough to blame the colour of his cheeks on the temperature.  
"What's..." he paused, gesturing to Jason's stomach and chest, "that for?"

"Clothes drag you down, right?"

Percy nodded. "Yeah, but... You--" he stopped himself. He already thought he sounded like an idiot, best not to continue.

Jason was eyeing him, mostly amused, and said, "You didn't think I was gonna go, too? Or you don't want me to look?"

No, Percy hadn't thought in a million years that Jason would go with him, and in fact that only made it worse, but he didn't say that. No, Percy didn't want him to look, but he didn't say that. He squinted his eyes closed, although he could feel Jason still looking, and pulled his shirt over his head, wedging out of his shoes and pulling off his jeans.

Percy opened his eyes, looked at Jason, and Jason looked at him, both in their pants on the edge of a lake that could probably kill them, their situation the product of procrastination, and Percy couldn't stop himself from laughing.

Jason crossed over, trying to find out if it was Percy or himself. He caught one of Percy's wrists so he could see his face, saying, "What? Percy, what?"

Percy managed, "We're fucking idiots, Grace. Teenage idiots."

Jason dropped Percy's wrist. Percy memorised the motion of his smile creeping onto his face. "I think," Jason said, humourously dry, "that that's only you."

Percy shook his head. He couldn't stop laughing. "Grace"--he couldn't stop saying that, gracegracegrace--"you're thick as fuck. You can't even see this." Percy knew exactly what he was talking about, but he knew Jason didn't, and he wouldn't let himself go on.

Jason's laugh was there, too, but lighter, more businesslike. "Percy," he warned. "We need to work."

Percy quieted himself down, eventually. He got his wand from his crumpled pile of clothes and ran through all the warming spells he could remember. The water itself would be no problem; he'd honed his elemental skills enough. It was the pressure and the temperature and the darkness that got to him.

Percy settled on the spells that he knew would work. His eyes found their way to Jason's bare shoulder, traced a path down his arm to his hand. Percy got down the thick wanting in his own throat. It sunk like a sweetly flavoured stone to the bottom of his chest, filled up his lungs like syrup.

His grip tightened, white-knuckled on the handle of his wand.

He said, "You need to take my hand." He thought, I just want to touch you.  
Jason didn't hesitate.

Percy cast his spells; the fiery feelings they gave him that raced along his skin were nothing compared to the ones in his chest, the warmth they seared into his veins was insignificant in comparison to the searing between his palm and Jason's.

Their fingers linked together, Jason's fingertips pressing down on Percy's knuckles.

They waded, impossibly frigid and opaque, until the water got to Percy's neck, and the middle of Jason's chest.

Jason skirted his palm, never breaking contact as to not wreck the spell, along Percy's wrist and to the other side of his waist, pulled him closer. (Percy hadn't thought that was even possible.)

Percy's shoulder fit under Jason's painfully well, Jason's hipbone melded into the bare curve of the top of Percy's.

"I just realised," Jason murmured, voice soft against Percy's temple, and Percy understood the sudden closeness--Jason's voice was soaked in fear. He was dealing with something he didn't understand, couldn't control, and Percy was, in that situation, council. Percy felt both very pleased and very disappointed.  
Jason continued, "That I've got no way to breathe."

Percy couldn't stop himself from commenting, "You're afraid."

Jason laughed, darker than ever. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Percy shook his head, resigned. He knew once he would explain, Jason would let go of him like he was a leper, but he had to speak anyway. "If you're touching me, you'll be able to breathe like I can."

Jason stared. His eyes made Percy feel like he was a miracle. "That's brilliant," Jason said. He didn't let go.  
The water was freezing around them, but Percy focused on not letting it touch. He didn't think Jason would be so impressed had Percy told him that when they were done he'd be dead tired; that if they took too long, he might just pass out in the water.

There was no time to say that, though, as they went under.

-

Everything was lit green and blue. They collected things by drawing them into Jason's wand, lit by light from Percy's. It reminded Percy of gaining achievements from the games his muggle relatives would get him for his birthday--follow a quest, draw up the items in some invisible inventory.

-

Percy felt damn impressive.

He was in his element--pun intended--and everything he did made him seem like a king.

He spoke with merpeople. It took him less than a few words to ward off the kelpies, he knew exactly where everything was located.

Along with that, Jason was holding his fucking hand.

He was on top of the world.

-

Percy began to feel tired, though, only a few minutes in.

Maybe he'd been showing off, but he didn't think he could hold the breathing circulation for quite as long as he'd led Jason to believe. In fact, he thought he had maybe another half an hour. At best.

He managed to drag Jason along--to cut off the other boy's staring at schools of shimmering silver and green fish, no matter how lovely Jason's marveled expression was--fast enough to get to the shore a few minutes before he thought that he would die of exhaustion. (Really, he had already died of exhaustion. He'd been half asleep for the last thirty minutes, and hap fallen completely under more than four times.)

Somewhere along the way, too, he had had to cut off his own warming spell, focusing it on Jason, or it would've been uselessly stretched thin for both of them.

When the pair finally staggered onto the shore, still half-wound around each other, Percy leaned more on Jason than he did on himself.

Percy didn't really 'let go' as much as he 'slithered to a mostly-sitting position at Jason's feet and was silent'. Meanwhile, Jason stood above him, seeming rather victorious.

Percy leaned back against Jason's legs, teeth chattering and too cold to really do anything, trying to siphon some of the old warming spell out of him. It wasn't working, but Jason (oblivious) reached his hand to rest lightly on the top of Percy's head, tangling his hand in Percy's hair as he said, breathless and joyful, "Percy, you're amazing!"

Percy wasn't really listening, all he heard was a faint buzzing in his left ear that was steadily growing louder in his right.

"Percy?"

Jason moved away, Percy promptly fell back onto the rocks; his skull rattled and a pebble dug its way into his cheek.

"Merlin," he heard Jason say, and suddenly there was water dripping onto Percy's face as Jason leaned over him. Jason's finger poked lightly into his cheek. "You alright?"

Percy didn't really remember if he answered. He tried to shake his head, no, but it might not have gotten from my brain to his nerves. He felt a little like a cloud, actually, so cold that he was almost warm.  
Jason seemed to close to actually panicked by then. He rested the back of a hand that felt fiery hot to Percy against Percy's forehead, softly cursing at whatever he felt.

"Why aren't you warming?" Jason muttered, but it was a rhetorical question, asked as he dug around for something. Percy was too far gone to really care about his own safety, but that tone reminded him that Jason was the best at healing magic in their year. Instead of processing this information, he felt the uncontrollable and completely unrelated urge to vomit.

He felt it coming up his throat, Jason gave an alarmed yelp and twisted Percy's body. Percy was glad Jason didn't comment.

Jason ran away for a minute when Percy was done almost choking to death on his own bodily fluids, and for a moment Percy imagined that he had been left to die, but a few minutes later, Jason returned, wearing a thin, white cotton shirt that wasn't really doing much to cover much of anything, and holding a bundle of dry fabric. It was the clothes they had abandoned, and Percy was suddenly proud of Jason for that.

"Put these on," Jason instructed. When it was clear Percy either didn't hear or wasn't able to move, Jason sighed and proceeded to do the work himself.

It was the most awkward few minutes of Percy's life; he was glad he wasn't really inside his brain to experience most of it.

When he was done, Jason was hurriedly talking to himself, buzzing with both nervousness and the prospect of action.

"Next order of business," Jason commented, "is to get you inside, and then somewhere warm."

Under normal circumstances, Percy thought it was safe to assume that Jason would've asked before hooking his arm under Percy's waist and hauling him along with him, but these weren't normal circumstances.

Percy was pretty sure he went unconscious a few times between the shore of the lake and the entrance to the castle. He was also pretty sure he was transported there mainly on magic as opposed to Jason's personal strength.

It didn't matter, though, as they now stood in the stairwell leading down to the dungeons.

Jason had dictated his plan to Percy, who was only conscious for part of it, so all he knew was: dungeons, warmth, sleep.

-

It had taken around ten minutes for Jason to coax the correct password out of Percy, and even so, the carvings glared at the both of them when they slipped inside.

Percy wasn't stupid enough or tired enough or ill enough to make too much noise when they finally got up to the dorm. He just sat down on the edge of his bed and leaned back. The fabric wasn't as warm as he thought it would be; in fact, he was just numb.

Jason was digging through Percy's clothes, eventually coming up with something that pleased him and beckoning for Percy to sit up. Crouching on the floor before the edge of Percy's bed, Jason seemed to realise that Percy probably wasn't going to move, whether he was able to or not.

Jason sighed, although to Percy it sounded like they were both still underwater, and moved for the hem of the shirt Percy was wearing--something thick, dry, and violet--maybe crimson? Whatever it was, Percy would never be tasteless enough to wear it.

It was coming off his body, then, anyway, so that was good.

When Jason had cast aside the shirt, he surveyed Percy's (embarrassingly gaunt) chest and stomach, and ended up hissing, "Fuck."

Percy managed a bumbling, "W-wha?" He had never really heard Jason curse before.

Jason let his fingertips stray dangerously close to the space between Percy's ribs, and whispered, "You're practically blue."

"Favourite... favourite colour."

Jason laughed, careful and quiet, and pulled out his wand. Percy was afraid all of the ingredients would come spilling out, but Jason angled his words around it, carefully wove the magic out and spilled it into Percy's skin with nothing extra. Heat rippled over Percy's stomach, causing him almost to gasp. It crushed the numbness, and all that was left was pain. He caught the pitiful whine in the back of his throat as Jason clamped a paranoid hand over his mouth. Percy raised his hand in a flopping gesture, and the curtains snapped shut around them both.

"Soundproof," Percy explained.

Jason lifted his hand, casting another wave of fire over Percy's neck and shoulders. This time, Percy let out something that sounded mostly like a cough, but sort of like a groan. Jason laughed a little, placing his palm on Percy's forehead again to check the temperature.

"Almost," he whispered. "Sorry."

"Duw, ffucc i mi dros," Percy said, full volume, because that time it was worse than the two previous ones by far. The Welsh had really come out of nowhere, but Jason asked what it meant anyway.

" 'God, fuck me over'."

"Brutal." Jason's hand was on his forehead again.

Percy's heavy breathing, Jason's frantic studying of his temperature-stained cheeks.

"These will wear out after half an hour or so," Jason explained after a while of silence, his tone sounding both academic and perfunctory. He was still running through whatever healing magic called for from the lists in his head. "So I'm just gonna sit here and cast them again when they do."

Percy, really, just wanted to fucking sleep. So he nodded. Jason handed him a shirt and pants a moment later.

"I won't look, if you don't want me to," Jason said, although his tone made it sound like it was more for him instead of Percy.

Percy just nodded again, hearing Jason turn away and fumbling at putting on the dry clothes. He was only wearing a tshirt and boxerbriefs, but when he pulled back the duvet and crawled under it, he felt more clothed than he had been in the last few hours.

"You done?" Jason asked, when Percy had stopped moving. Percy nodded in confirmation; Jason scooted away from the headboard, scrunching himself up with his knees to his chest on the edge of the mattress. It was like some sort of vigil.

"Tell me if you feel cold. Or numb."

Percy was silent. He pressed his cheek into the pillow and tried to forget about the fact that Jason was sitting only a little ways away.

-

"Jason," Percy hissed. He hadn't been able to fall asleep yet, and it put him in the perfect position to keep track of (read, admire the face of) Jason, who obviously had.

Percy really didn't want to wake him, but he couldn't feel his own skin, and when he cast lumos, he saw that his fingertips were in fact fading back into blue.

Jason looked at him, shocked awake by his voice and rubbing at his eyes. He moved forward, holding himself up by the elbow over the pillow, dangerously close to Percy. "Yeah?"

Percy gestured with his trembling hands and said, "Dying."

Jason fumbled sleepily in trying to find his wand. "Right, right."

The heating spell lit up Percy's arm with warmth, and although he managed to hold in his profanities that time, it seared up into his shoulders with newfound intensity.

When the spell faded, Percy was able to feel things again--the fabric against his legs, the crumpled mass of sheets that Jason had pushed down near the bottom. (Probably not on purpose.)

Jason rubbed at his cheekbone with the palm of his hand, looking so tired that Percy couldn't help saying, "You... you can sleep, if you want."

It felt rude to be allowing Jason to sleep, but whatever Percy felt, Jason didn't seem to care. He didn't take that much convincing. A few seconds of staring, and Jason had let himself fall onto the mattress, more self-conscious than not, and wouldn't meet Percy's eyes.

"If you need spells, wake me and--"

"--Yeah," Percy cut off, because he already knew.

"And if you need more, just ask..." Jason stopped, probably because he was fully aware that what he was about to say was kind of fucking strange, but he continued anyway, "and I'll--"

"--Yeah," Percy repeated, this time because he already knew what Jason was going to say and he didn't want to have to listen to Jason saying what Percy knew he was going to say.

(Why did he even fucking care?)

-

Jason was asleep across from him. It had to be around three AM, maybe four. It didn't matter. Percy wasn't going to be able to fall asleep any time soon, not like this. He couldn't tell if he felt warm or cold, if he was uncomfortable or otherwise.

Jason didn't sleep under any of the blankets; he'd made Percy use all of them. Percy could barely see, but he traced the slight curves of Jason's torso through his shirt, the way his thighs crossed unconsciously as he slept and his arm fell protectively over his chest. Percy almost felt himself reaching out. (What he wouldn't give to be able to run his fingertips over Jason's cheek, neck, shoulders. Once, maybe--even, if it was all he could get.)

Almost. He froze. He whispered, "Fuck."

Jason had not been as asleep as Percy thought he had. In fact, as soon as Percy had spoken, he seemed quite awake. (Although not alert; Jason, Percy was learning, woke up a lot like Annabeth did: long periods of grogginess, maybe words that didn't quite make sense.)

"You alright?" Jason mumbled, his cheek still pushed into the pillow.

Percy nodded, and although Jason's eyes were open, he doubted that he could see.

"I'll tell you," Percy excused. "If I..." he stopped, because although Jason was nodding, it was a tired, bobbing motion. It would really be useless to talk.

-

Percy woke, his chest rattling silently but painfully and his skin alight with chill. He pulled the duvet tighter around his shoulders, knowing that the better source of warmth was only a bit away from him on his bed.

He sighed. _Fuck my entire life._

He resigned himself to accepting that he'd only ever be able to do something like this when he was either dying of hypothermia or intoxicated (or both), and reached feebly for Jason atop the mattress. Within a few moments Jason obliged, and Percy was even warmer and his heart was beating even faster.

Breathing in, he caught the barest hint of Jason that hadn't been washed away by the lake, and it just then occurred to him that for the entire walk back, he had been wearing Jason's jumper.

Jason's legs tangled with his own, arms over Percy's chest and stomach. Jason's breathing played across the back of Percy's shoulder, to which his jaw was precariously close. Percy breathed out, trying to force himself to just fucking relax. Jason, he could feel, was already starting to fall asleep again.

At least they'd only be two days late.


	14. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thx for putting up with my shitty schedule i lov u all

Percy woke feeling strangely non-apocalyptic. Strangely calm.

He was in a lot of pain, though. All of his joints ached, and every breath he took raked across his dry throat.

He turned up to the emerald canopy and swallowed, trying to soothe the flames and stop the cough before it started.

Even when Percy sat up, Jason didn't stir. Percy stretched as best he could in the confines of the bed frame, trying to get his back able to move past a sixteen degree angle.

He finally managed to push his spine enough that it gave him something close to the movement range of a normal person, and he let out a small sound of distaste at the uncomfortable feeling.

He turned to see if he'd woken Jason, but he quite obviously hadn't.

Percy could've woken Jason then, really. Gotten Jason out of his bed as soon as possible. Went on with their lives as close to normal as they could.

Or, he could do what he actually did, which was settle back against the mattress (this time in significantly less pain), his loosely curled fist as close as it could be to Jason's sleepily twisted hipbone without Percy panicking, and go back to sleep.

-

"Percy." Jason was shaking Percy's shoulder insistently; Percy gently batted him off.

When Percy finally decided that ignoring Jason wouldn't make him or his summons to consciousness disappear, he cracked open an eye.

Jason was peering down at Percy from his stance of being bent over him whilst sitting.

At seeing Percy's eyes open, Jason gave a small smile. He said, rather softly, "Morning."

Percy chewed his lip in reply.

Jason's hand was hovering over Percy's arm and shoulder, like he wanted to put it down, but wasn't sure if he should. Percy noticed that, took note of it, and hiked his shoulder up so it hit Jason's palm and took care of the decision for him.

Jason asked, "Feeling better?"

Percy nodded. "Time?"

Jason bit his lip. "Late. One o' clock."

Percy's chest leapt.

"Sorry," Jason said. "Most of our classes are over by now."

Percy readied himself to apologize; Jason shook his head. "You needed to sleep."

(Some of Jason's hair was sticking up above his ear. Percy noticed that.)

Jason shrugged. "We don't even have to--"

Percy immediately shook his head. "No, we're leaving." He grabbed Jason's wrist and didn't bother to check for anyone else when he yanked open the curtains.

He stood, assuming Jason knew what to do and deciding very pointedly not to tell him, suddenly nervous. He shucked his shirt over his head; his life was falling apart, anyway.

Jason eyed him, Percy saw out of the corner of his eye, looking completely lost.

When Percy stopped to stare at him, only one arm in his t-shirt, Jason said, "Right, one, I'm not letting you wear that, you'll just freeze again, and two, I have no..." he gestured to Percy's shirt.

Percy reached blindly for something behind him and chucked it at Jason. It was too small, they both knew, so Percy added a sarcastic, "You're a wizard."

Jason looked slightly confused by Percy's sudden change of mood, but he shrugged minutely and pulled the shirt over his head.

Percy, although never when he needed to be, was a good multitasker; his eyes lingered.

-

"I assume we're not going to class," Jason said, walking next to Percy on their way up from the dungeons.  
Percy practically snorted. "Nah." He rubbed his hands together excitedly, even he couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. "We're brewing."

"Didn't we just leave the dungeons? And there's classes in there all day."  
Percy nodded succinctly. "I know a place."

They snuck through corridors, even though they didn't really need to for most of the time, until Percy gestured proudly to the gap under the stairwell.

-

"I've been looking for you all day!" Annabeth hissed. She grabbed Percy's wrist harshly, tugging him close against the frigid stone wall of the courtyard as an annoyed couple hurried past. It seemed that Percy and Annabeth had interrupted their time in the courtyard. "Where in Merlin's bloody name were you?"

Percy was rather stunned at her outburst, as he'd always known her to be protective but not so immensely so. He shrugged, suddenly feeling rather bashful. "With--" he said, "--with Jason."

Whatever answer that Annabeth had been expecting, it sure as hell wasn't that. She dropped his wrist as if she'd been burned and said, more hurt than anything, "I had to present in charms alone."

Percy felt his stomach sink. "That was today? I'm really sorry, Beth, I--"

"--Forgot," she cut off. "Yeah. I could've guessed." Percy found himself flinching at every accented syllable, and he guessed Annabeth noticed, and she softened slightly.

She sighed. "I just..." she blew a curl out of her face angrily, and straightened her tie. "I can't tell you what to do. And I can't keep tabs on you all of the time. But... but please tell me if you're going to disappear for most of the day."

Percy nodded. "I really am sorry."

Annabeth blew out a perturbed breath again, long and dry and calming. "I know." She smiled tightly (Percy could tell by then that she'd get over it) and reached for Percy's hand. "We should go inside."

-

(October first)

Rachel giggled. "So, you could say that you slept with him."

Percy felt his face burn; he should've never have told Rachel. "Yeah, I guess? But I know you're just fucking with me."

"And you're telling me you didn't get any of his body parts inside your mouth."

Percy heated up more, if that was even possible; he cringed. "No."

"Not even a cheeky nibble?"

"Rachel!"

He shoved Rachel off their chair as delicately as he could, she glared at him from the floor. He shrugged. There were a few kids staring at them from various places around the common room, but Percy didn't really care, as the starers were mostly endeared--Percy and Rachel were known for touchy-feely displays of affection (and annoyance).

Rachel held up her hand, thumb and forefinger pressed close together as if to say, not even this much? And Percy aimed a soft kick at her shoulder.

-

(October twenty-second)

"What's this say?"

Percy handed the book to Jason across the cauldron, pointing to a particular phrase in the author's spidery scrawl.

Jason stared for a few moments, looking almost as perplexed as Percy felt. Eventually he handed it back, having decided on, "Respiration."

"Why can't they just say 'breathing'? What a pretentious fuck."

Jason gave Percy a look that said that he could have very easily said something that was Percy-levels of sarcastic, but that he was politely holding his tongue.

"Shut up."

Jason laughed. "I didn't say anything!"

-

(November ninth)

Percy clamped his hands over the back of his neck, his face buried in his pillow. He groaned, because he was tired of this, he groaned, because he was tired.

His head wouldn't shut up.

He had slept uninterrupted when Jason was there--granted, that was probably because he'd been legitimately dying, but the empty memory was cold comfort regardless when he was too afraid to close his eyes.

He couldn't even really remember what exactly he'd been dreaming about.

Falling. Hellfire. Something that caused his hands to have a barely detectable tremor.

He sighed, and sat up, chucking his shirt to the foot of his bed. He fumbled in his amber almost-darkness, and his fingertips at last stumbled across what he was looking for. He sat, crouched, and pressed the soft fabric up to his face over hunched knees.

Black tea. Pine. Lavender.

Barely there. There enough.

Magic was good for preserving something. He slipped the jumper over his head, bright crimson warding off anything that could get into his head.

He twisted to his side atop crumpled sheets, an arm crossed over his chest and shivering in the dungeons that were still so damnably cold. He reached for the collar, pulling it up with gauntly cold fingers to cover his chapped lips.

-

(November seventeenth)

Piper tapped Percy's shoulder. She gestured towards the window with her chin. "Snow," she commented.  
Percy looked to where her chin was pointed and grinned. "Thought I was gonna have to wait until after holiday."

"Doesn't it snow it Wales?"

Percy cocked his head to the side; he thought. "A little farther south, yeah, but not really any where I live."

Piper scrunched up her nose. "Damn. I was hoping there'd be more than in Ireland."

Percy stared at the fluffy flakes falling lazily outside the frosted window for a few more moments, then said, "We should get Rachel some snow water. For scrying."

Piper nodded, closed her book and stood, not bothering to push in her chair. "And you," she said. When

Percy looked at her, confused; she added, "I hear it's good for love potions."

Percy bit back an annoyed smile, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. "Shut up."

Piper laughed quietly, and they both turned to leave. Percy was glad that they had found an excuse to leave the library.

-

(November twenty-fourth)

It was raining rather pathetically, pretty shitty weather--and that was the appropriate setting for the letter in Percy's hands.

The upshot, elaborated in Sally's half-cursive, neatly-bound handwriting on the page in front of him, was that his uncle (on the muggle side) had fallen ill and that his mother had to go care for him.

And that it would probably go through Christmas.

' _I'll send you another letter when I know for sure_ ,' she wrote, ' _but I think it would be good if you started looking for someone to stay with. I don't want to have to drag you along for this, I know you wouldn't find it entertaining. And you're almost an adult. I think this'll be good for you_.'

It sounded more like she was trying to convince herself instead of Percy, but Percy could understand that.

He sighed, flipping the letter over obsessively in his hands again, staring at the blank back. He'd have to tell Annabeth that their Christmas plans were off, then.

Also, something else about the letter disappointed him. He didn't like that word. Adult.

He wasn't almost an adult. He wasn't even sixteen, and he sometimes still felt like he was twelve.

He wasn't an adult, and he didn't want to have to feel like one.

Realistically, he could've stayed in his own home over the holiday. No one would come to check on him--neighbors, relatives, family friends--and the utilities had run on magic for years.

But he didn't want to be in an empty house over Christmas.

He survived on the knowledge that it wasn't even destined to happen. His uncle could randomly get better, his mother could come back, Annabeth would stay for Christmas, and all would go smoothly.

But as charming as that was, it was really only pacification for the underlying, booming reality: Percy would have to find someone to stay with. And soon.

-

(November thirtieth)

Annabeth's stepmother was more than a little miffed at the sudden change of holiday plans, and although she didn't outright tell Percy this, Annabeth wasted no time in showing him how he was now spoken of coldly in all the letters she received.

Percy would be welcome there for Christmas, Annabeth explained, but she didn't think he'd much enjoy it.  
Piper was going on some educational trip with her father to Greece, for God-knows-what-purpose. Percy didn't even bother inquiring whether he'd be welcome; he knew he could never pay for that.

Rachel's family was that of clannish business trips, a silent mass, and clinically and strategically given gifts the next morning. She herself told Percy that her family wouldn't see him in the house.

So he procrastinated.

He procrastinated until Jason sidled up to him in Herbology a week later and said, "Piper said you need somewhere to stay over Christmas," and he procrastinated answering, and that was that.

-

(December tenth)

Percy hadn't responded to Jason then. He'd simply patted down his Livermore Vine (they worked like boa constrictors of magic; and if they got you to the skirting edge of death, they'd give you visions of false gods) and waved him off, saying, "Later, yeah."

Now, three days later, he had to respond, because he'd had A, an awful lot of time to think about it, and B, the sudden realisation that it was his only close-to comfortable option.

Good. Great. Fucking pleasant as hell.

So before he could think about it--what Jason might think, the repercussions, how he himself would even survive those almost-three weeks--Percy said yes. And Jason beamed. (Thalia would be thrilled, he said, and there was plenty of room.)

Percy saw that smile, saw it enough that his knees felt slightly less stable than they had a moment before.

Good. Great. Fucking pleasant as hell.

"Yeah," Percy said, "thanks. I'll--Ill write my mum."

Jason bumped their shoulders together; the world swayed. Good.

Frost crunched under Percy's trainers, he left indistinct footprints on the hill, Jason's trotting beside him. Percy had been summoned by Rachel to the edge of the forest to see something "completely brilliant" (her words), and in his considerably mild yet completely justified fear of Rachel Elizabeth Dare, Jason had offered to accompany him.

There was no refusing something like that. Great.

There was no refusing this, even if it was absolutely going to destroy him later. It all hurt: walking with Jason like that, the steady and comfortable thrum of breaths and conversation and pointing and jostling, the giganticness of their together-alone-ness.

Percy was overreacting. He was the only one who noticed, he was sure.  
Jason said something, quirking smile, Percy felt himself smile goofily in response. (He could kiss the grin off Jason's face, keep it for himself for when it rained.) He stared invariably at the ground.

Fucking pleasant as hell.

Christmas holiday started in a week.

-

(December fifteenth)

"What's the Welsh word for snow?" Jason was peering out of one of the library's only windows at the thickly falling snow. He sat in the large sill, his homework propped on his knees. It was the kind of snow that would be considered dangerous, or cumbersome, if you didn't spend most of your time in a monolithic stone castle.

"Eira." Percy was laying on the carpeted floor, pretending to be staring at the ceiling, but instead staring at the white highlights reflecting from the snow-blanketed world outside onto Jason's cheeks.

Jason said, "That fits it better."

Percy shrugged.

Jason went on to say, "The whole language fits better."

Percy shrugged again. Then he asked, "How much do you speak?"

Jason responded, after a thoughtful pause, "Bach." 'A little.'

Percy swallowed. "Mae hynny'n iawn. Mae hynny'n dda, mewn gwirionedd."

' _That's fine. That's good, actually._ '

Jason didn't speak for a little. Then he laughed, and said, "That's just rude, Jackson."

At first Percy thought Jason meant that what he had said was rude, which it wasn't, until he realised that

Jason had been referring to the fact that he couldn't understand what Percy had said. Percy smiled. He said, "Chi yw'r gorau i siarad â nhw."

 _'You're the best to talk to_.'

"...How do you make that sound?"

Percy dropped his hands onto his stomach. "Which one?"

"The first one. The 'khh' sound."

Jason pronounced it very carefully, harsher than Percy did, but particular, as if he were afraid he'd get it wrong.

"It's like..." Percy tried to find a good analogy. "Damn it, Jason, I don't know. It's a letter. How do you explain how to pronounce a letter?"

"Say it again."

"The whole thing?"

"Something."

Percy mulled over what to say. Part of him longed to say something important, some sort of confession, just to know that he'd done it, even if Jason would never understand. He sighed, though, instead settling for, "Rwy'n cadw yn dweud pethau gwirion."

' _I keep saying stupid things._ '

He listened to the sound of Jason's parchment rustling. " 'Rwy'n' means 'I', right?"

"Present tense."

Jason stuttered out a very unsure, "Rwy'n... rwy'n wedi blino."

' _I'm tired_.'

Percy laughed. (It was more of a giggle, but he hated the word giggle. Also, he hated that he could make sounds that could be described as giggles.) "Yna gysgu."

_'Then sleep.'_

Jason stumbled through another sentence, "Nid fel hynny. Rwy'n... never mind." He pushed his papers inside his bag, almost rushed. "See you, Percy."

Percy sat up. "What?" Then he realised that he sounded more invested than he meant to and said, "Yeah, sorry. See you."

Jason slipped around a shelf, Percy listened to his muted footsteps retreat from the library. It was silent. Percy laid back down, and stared at the ceiling.

What the hell had any of that meant?

It didn't matter, really, Percy thought, reaching for his things. Because he was tired for real, and skipping dinner in favour of heading straight to the dungeons seemed like a very good idea.

He didn't think about Jason on the way down.

-

(December seventeenth)

The car waiting for Jason (and, by extension, Percy) at King's Cross was a sleek charcoal-grey thing, with tinted windows and a business-casual dressed, balding man in the front that Jason called "Andrew". (The man, in return, referred to him as "Mister Grace".)

Andrew, at first, made Percy very wary. He didn't know if Andrew was a muggle, and he didn't know if he could ask Jason, because what if he was? Percy's feelings dissipated, though, when Andrew flicked a chromed pen towards him and Jason, and their trunks crushed in on themselves and neatly compacted into the boot.

"A pen for a wand?" Percy asked Jason as they still stood outside the car with the door open. "That's kind of stupid."

"Filter, Percy. He can probably hear you."

Andrew met Percy's eyes in the mirror, and smiled, crinkly-eyed. He said, as Percy and Jason climbed into the back seat, "I used to have a normal wand, it's true, until my daughter started transfiguring everything she touched when she was, oh, four or so. She'd cry like a devil if I turned it back. So I haven't, not after all these years."

Percy didn't really know what to do with that information, so he just nodded as un-awkwardly as he could (read: still awkward). Jason started to talk comfortably to Andrew, and eventually, Percy drifted away, temple pressed against the window, half-listening to the comfortable timbre of Jason's voice.

-

Andrew had pulled them up to a spacious communal garage by the time Jason gently shook Percy awake.

"We're home," he said, and at Percy's bleary expression, corrected himself, "my home."

The garage didn't seem public, at least, there was no gum, tyre tracks, or heel-crushed fags, or graffitied swear-words. In fact, the whole place seemed unnervingly clean and silent. The cars were all shiny, and black or grey or white, the same models and numbers repeating for ages. The car Andrew drove looked no different, tucked into a little end spot. The only thing that was different at that moment was that Andrew's boot opened on its own, luggage sailing out and landing silently upright.

"Thanks, Andrew," Jason said, "tell everyone at home I said hi."

Andrew clapped Jason on the back.

He shook Percy's hand. "I don't think you ever told me your name, lad."

"Er..." Percy trailed off stupidly; he had a habit of that, "...Percy. I'm..." he stopped again, thinking, what the hell even am I? Why do I need a title?

Jason said, "My friend." Andrew smiled, Percy nodded, flushed and thankful, and that was it.

Andrew got in the car and Jason started leading Percy to an lift.

"So you let him call you 'Percy' after a couple hours, but wouldn't let me say it after years?"

Percy shrugged. Jason said, "The second one's always slow. Take the third." It took Percy a few moments to realise he was referring to the lifts.

-

The lift dinged after a minute and opened to a lobby-like room, with plush midnight carpet and a man at a large, black marble desk who looked up from his laptop as the lift slid delicately open.

"Grace?" He asked, upon seeing Jason enter. He peered over silvery wire-frames. "And...?"

"Jackson," Jason said, "Percy. A guest. He'll be staying a while."

The man typed furiously for a moment into his laptop, then nodded. No more words were exchanged as Jason headed across the lobby and opened the door on the other side. It lead to stairs.

"Where are we staying?" Percy asked, almost disbelieving. "And how much does this cost a night?"

"A night?" Jason tossed over his shoulder. They'd been lugging their trunks along the staircase for what felt like ages. Jason continued, "I live here. And we're not to our floor quite yet, sorry."

"Your floor. Right."

He lived there. Of course he did.

"So who was that Andrew guy? He can't be hotel staff, then?"

Jason laughed, like he didn't know the weight of what he was saying, what light it cast him and his real leather trunk in. "No, he's my mum's driver. Been in the family since Thalia was born."

"Right."

Jason stopped on the landing, turning around to face Percy, so suddenly that Percy nearly ran into him. Jason studied Percy, seemingly worried, or frantic, or something. "Something wrong?"

"What? No. Why?"

Percy wanted to reach up and press his thumb to the concerned knot between Jason's eyebrows. Jason continued to study him.

"You seem..." Jason stopped. Percy could practically feel Jason whirling to find a word that wouldn't be found offensive. Harsh. Judging.

Jason settled on, "Overwhelmed."

Percy stared at the softly-lit, massive stairwell. The carpet beneath his ratty trainers was steamed and thick, the walls flawlessly papered, an effortless blend of vintage and modern. Timeless.

He said, "No, I'm fine. Really."

Jason cocked his head to the side, a bit like he didn't know what he had done wrong. He was almost pouting. (It was fucking ridiculous.)

When Jason seemed to realise that Percy was either actually fine or he wasn't going to reveal that he wasn't (it was the latter), he turned and continued to bound up the stairs. "I'll have to ask Thalia what room you'll be staying in--I think it's mine? I don't know if we moved the mattress."

Percy began to follow Jason, much less enthusiastically, up the stairs. He paused at the landing to peer out the window--they seemed a million metres off the ground.

Jason's room. Jason. Close proximity. That fucking pout. Two and a half weeks.

Good. Great. Fucking pleasant as hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I am so excited for the next few chapters you don't even k n o w.


	15. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so this was sooner than expected.  
> Also ANGST.  
> (But don't worry it gets solved soon.)

Percy found Jason's flat to be prettier than he found Jason, which was really saying something.

In other words, Jason's flat was painfully fucking magnificent.

Upon entering the flat for the first time, Percy was absolutely sure that he gaped. It was massive, first of all.

Secondly, spotless, and thirdly, one of the walls was completely windows, overlooking the sheer largeness of London.

And that was the "public space"--leather sofas, the giant sink-in communal recreational square, the drink and coffee tables.

There was a chic and modern, wooden spiral staircase in the back of the massive room, leading up to an unlit part of the flat that Percy guessed was where the actual living happened. This was confirmed when Jason started to climb it, saying, "My room's in the back of the hallway, sorry for all the walking." Jason then added hastily, "And no shoes on the staircase or higher, my mum hates it."

Percy was suddenly very aware that Jason had seen Llaneilian, and Percy was also suddenly very regretful of that. He followed Jason past a light switch that Jason flicked without thinking, lighting the whole balcony up in borderline blinding fluorescents. They passed, though, into the darker, less overwhelming hallway--that almost looked normal, with unfurnished walls, white carpet, and a single potted plant (possibly fake) in the corner. There were only two doors, very close to one another, both on the left wall of the hallway. Jason went for the handle of one, and pushed open the door to nervously present to Percy what was instantly recognisable as Jason Grace's room.

It wasn't overly furnished with Jason-like things, but Percy could still tell, for some reason. It was so much less flashy than the rest of the home--grey-blue walls, white ceiling, the same white carpet from the hallway. A bed--bigger than Percy's, but not by much--took up one corner, pushed against the wall and neatly put together but a mess of patterns all the same.

The room itself was practically bare, besides an organised bookshelf, and a desk bearing nothing besides a mug of stationery and a picture of what Percy guessed to be a young Thalia holding an even younger Jason. A black, plush, inflatable mattress was a metre or so away from the bed on the floor, covered in a mass of quilts and sheets not unsimilar to Jason's bed. Percy guessed that was where he'd be sleeping.

"Boring, I know," Jason said, "but it's not like I really spend that much time here." He pulled both of their trunks to the edge of the bed and propped them up, using his newly freed hand to gesture to one of the three doors in the room.

"That one we just came out of, from the hallway. That one's the closet, and that one leads to the bathroom."

"The bathroom's in your room?"

"It's just mine, don't worry." Jason laughed. "It's not like someone's randomly gonna use it during the middle of the night."

"Unless you do," Percy pointed out.

"Or you," Jason added. It was true.

Jason drifted to lean against the doorframe rather awkwardly.

"I don't know when Thalia or my mum will be home," he admitted. "...You want something to eat?"

Percy was glad Jason had suggested it--one, he was actually hungry; he hadn't eaten since breakfast, actually, and probably wouldn't have had the courage to ask himself, and two, it was the best way to defuse an awkward situation if you didn't have Sally Jackson on hand.

And Percy, quite obviously and unfortunately, did not have Sally Jackson on hand.

He followed Jason back down the stairs and into the largest kitchen he'd ever seen, inhabited primarily by an enormous marble counter and a seemingly even larger breakfast bar. (It was also marble.)  
Jason opened the silvery, French-doored refrigerator, peering inside with distaste.

"My mum's on some kind of health kick," he said regretfully. "Most of everything's raw fruit and stuff. And if we eat Thalia's food, she'll kill us."

"If it's too much trouble, I--"

Jason waved him off. "Nah, I'm pretty sure we have canned soup somewhere. Unless Thalia ate it."

He started digging around in cabinets, humming pleasantly, a plane groaned outside, and Percy took a seat at the breakfast bar. He rested his cheeks on his fists and watched Jason look through the seemingly endless cabinets.

"Jason, really, if you can't--"

"Shh. Nope, food time." He turned, looking ridiculous as he kneeled in front of a cabinet filled with canned beans and mushrooms on the spotless kitchen floor, and grinned. "You've gotta believe in me, Percy."  
Percy allowed himself two seconds to smile back. "I do," he said, "follow your dreams."

Jason struck a determined fist in the air and continued to look through the cans.

-

Thalia got home around ten thirty that night, just a few minutes after Jason had fallen asleep for the third time on one of the sofas. (He and Percy were in the "public space", using the massive, paper-thin, concave television to watch reruns of Star Trek. The volume turned way down, of course, to spotlight their sarcastic voice overs.)

Thalia had some bass-heavy, drum-heavier beat leaking out of her earbuds; she abandoned her clunky boots at the base of the staircase.

She seemed almost surprised to see Percy.

"Forgot you were staying," she admitted, then she peered over at the crumpled, sleeping Jason. "Asleep?"  
Percy nodded.

She grinned, "He'll be happy to see me later, I suppose." She thought for a moment. "Actually, never mind." She reached over to shake Jason awake. "Mum's home in two hours, nerd."

The use of the word 'nerd' seemed both predictable and out of place for the Grace siblings at the same time. Jason didn't question it. He just muttered a tired, "Hi, Thals," and reached blindly for the remote. The television blinked instantly black.

Jason was heading towards the staircase, Percy followed.

"Don't you want to wait for your mum?"

Jason shook his head without looking over his shoulder. "Better not to. It's late, anyway."

It really wasn't all that late, but Percy accepted what he'd heard, not wanting to push something that he didn't quite understand. Jason didn't turn on the hallway light, and he shut the door to his bedroom behind him when he entered.

He disappeared into the bathroom for a couple of minutes, there was muted running water and the sounds of someone walking. He came out in just pants and a t shirt, looking far more tired than he had a couple of hours previous.

"All yours," he said, sinking onto his bed and stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. "Wake me if you need anything."

Percy slipped into the bathroom--it wasn't all that impressive, aside from the massive shower (although that was probably because his own shower was a million years old and never seemed to get above two degrees). The tasks of preparing oneself for bed, he found, were tedious no matter where they were performed, and in a few minutes, he flicked off the light and slunk out to his mattress.

-

Percy didn't sleep that night. He couldn't.

Well, that wasn't true. He fell asleep at one point, only to wake himself up, shaking horribly, a few minutes later. He couldn't cast anything, because that would wake Jason, and he couldn't wake Jason because... well, because he couldn't wake Jason.

Besides--he hadn't even thought of it until then--he wasn't allowed to cast anything outside of school.

So he stared at the ceiling. He crossed his arms over his chest, angry at his stupid fucking head.

Maybe he could ask Jason if he could move rooms the next morning. He didn't want to be offensive--Jason's mum (Beryl, he remembered) had practically taken him in over the holidays like a lost dog. He was their good deed of the season. He couldn't exactly say he was looking forward to seeing her.

He would see if he felt up for offending Jason the next morning. He checked the clock, two twenty-six AM. That was, he resolved, if he didn't go insane from boredom first.

-

"Percy, you awake?"

Jason's voice clearly betrayed the truth--that it was obvious that Percy was awake, that he knew. Percy heard the concerned edge to it, the hope that Percy wouldn't answer because maybe he was, in fact, not awake.  
But he was not asleep, so he said, "Mm."

"How'd you sleep?"

This, too, was a clear pleasantry. Jason was obviously aware--Percy could tell by his tone of voice--that Percy had either slept very badly or not at all.

He had not slept well, but there were some lies that just made life easier. Percy said, "All right."

Jason paused. "Good. I think."

"It's early," Percy commented, after yet more silence.

Jason answered, "I get up early. Sorry."

That was like Jason, Percy decided, to be a morning person. To wake up when the sleepy, misty brightness did. They fit together.

"I'll let you sleep from now on, if you'd like."

Percy shook his head, unaware if Jason was looking or not. "No, get me up when you do." It was better to cut the nights as short as he could.

"Whatever you say."

They were achingly formal. It was like he had gotten vertigo that Percy wondered, had they ever not been, or was that all in his head? He didn't think they were, he'd never see Jason smile like he had if they were. He resolved that by the end of the day, he'd break as much ice as he possibly could.

"Breakfast?" Jason asked.

Percy responded by checking the clock: six-oh-four. He shrugged. "What is there?"

Jason slid out of bed, stepping carefully over Percy's mattress and digging around his closet half-silently. He produced a pair of casual, athletic trousers that he pulled over his pants. "Let's find out."

-

Beryl wasn't downstairs, or anywhere that Percy could see, but surprisingly enough, Thalia was. She was still wearing her earbuds, but she sat at a breakfast stool seat with a plate of raw fruit, looking neither pleased nor otherwise.

She smiled when she saw Jason.

"Brush your hair, fucker," she commented, reaching over to smooth Jason's stubborn bit above his ear as he passed. Percy suddenly felt defensive of that--he'd done it so many times in his head that it felt like his own motion, even though he'd never done it for real.

"Or cut it," Thalia added. "It's getting long as shit."

Jason reached his hand to the nape of his neck, unsure and self conscious. It really wasn't that long, Percy noted, it just wasn't military short anymore.

Which, Percy also noted, he personally liked. (Even if imagining himself touching it--in a variety of ways--was significantly distracting.)

Jason dug around in the refrigerator, later procuring an orange. He skated across the reflectively smooth floor on his socks and leaned on the counter. He presented the orange to Thalia, jokingly humble, and said, "Can you magic it edible?"

Thalia glared at Jason for a moment. "It _is_ edible." Then she grabbed her wand from the bar in front of her and flicked it lazily towards the orange, muttering something under her breath.

Jason dropped whatever bready breakfast product it had turned into onto the bar, muttering a very frantic, "hot", and sliding back across the floor. He almost crashed into the counter, but reached up to the cabinets instead, his shirt hiking up a little on his stomach and humming lightly under his breath.

He was so subtly different from what Percy had come to know as Everyday Jason, still unalarmingly the same, but at the same time, more... bubbly. Hyperactive. Unrestrained.

Jason was still zipping around the kitchen. After a few minutes, he presented a plate to Percy. He smiled brightly.

Percy didn't look at the food, really--he was too busy studying the curve of Jason's grin. The stubborn bit of hair.

Jason went back into his habitual lip bite as Percy accepted the plate.

He found himself to be rather smitten.

-

"So, what's your mum do again?"

Percy leaned his back against Jason's bedroom door, picking at a solitary fray in the carpet, his fingers needing to be busy as he voiced this thing that felt oddly similar to a rude breach of privacy. Jason sat across from him, back against the side of his bed.

Jason looked up from his phone--apparently, he had one. Which made sense. Sometimes Percy forgot that he was the abnormal one. "Hm?"

Percy shrugged. "I mean, Annabeth said one of your parents worked for the Ministry, but I haven't seen your..." he stopped, realising he might have just offended Jason, depending on the circumstances of Jason's invisible father. Then again, if Jason's father was more than temporarily absent, that meant that he and Percy had that to share, and Percy felt like that might make him exempt from the social consequences of mentioning such a situation to begin with.

But Jason just shrugged. "My dad used to work for the Ministry, yeah, but my mum's a muggle."  
Percy didn't quite know how to react to that--there was nothing wrong with it, obviously not... but he hadn't really ever considered that to be an option in the matters of Jason Grace.

Jason Grace didn't seem like there'd been anything but embers and gold in his family's veins for quiet some time.

That analysis might have been dramatic, or inspired mostly by attraction, but it was undeniably true.

All in all, Jason was quiet, yes, but he was also rather magnificent. He wore it both humbly and well.  
Jason answered, finally--or perhaps Percy's mind had stretched the moments in between--"But, if you're wondering, my mum's an actress."

Percy didn't quite know how to react to that, either, so he hummed in response. He noticed Jason studying him, but decided pointedly not to make a big deal out of it.

"You're either wondering what my father does," Jason said, sounding both decisive and analytical, "or you're angry with me."

Percy was, in fact, wondering what Jason's father did, but he didn't ask that. Instead, he said, "Angry? I'm not angry."

Jason laughed. "What I meant was that your thinking face and your angry face is the same."

"I have a 'thinking face'?"

"Yeah." Jason actually put his phone down then, all attention then devoted to Percy. He crawled toward Percy, stopping to rest on his knees. He poked an innocent finger into Percy's cheek, experimentally shifting it back. He tugged the corner of Percy's lips downward with the his thumb, palm resting soft against Percy's jaw.

Percy could practically see his own flush; he didn't know how Jason didn't seem to. He thought that this must be what heart palpitations felt like.

"What're you doing?" He spoke softly against Jason's thumb, but Jason didn't bother pulling away. He just continued to closely study whatever he was doing to Percy's face, his expression intent.

"Trying to see the difference," Jason answered, sounding almost absentminded.

"Between...?"

Jason tilted Percy's chin up, appraising whatever he saw. He seemed satisfied, and answered, "Your thinking face..." he then brought Percy's chin back down, studying again, "...and your angry face."

Percy just stared as Jason's fingers still curved around his jaw, wondering where the hell this Jason was when they were at school, and why Percy had never had the pleasure of experiencing him before.

Jason suddenly brought his hand away from Percy's face (his fingertips had brushed Percy's bottom lip on their way away), but a moment later, he had returned, if only to press the pad of his thumb lightly to the space between Percy's eyebrows.

"Now?" Percy asked.

"You're thinking too hard."

Jason drew his hand away for real that time, but Percy's heart didn't calm down. Jason was smiling at him, so bitterly close.

They both stared.

Percy wanted to lean forward, the rational part of himself told him not to. His focus flicked from Jason's eyes to his lips, then back again. The rational part was losing.

They both stared.

Jason bit his lip. He leaned minutely forward.

Percy panicked, a sharp intake of breath and a scramble backward.

He said, "You're different, why are you different?" At the same time that Jason stopped short and said, "What are we doing?"

They both said, at the same time after that, "I don't know."

They both stared, very differently than they had before, one in confusion and the other in horror. Jason's confused expression looked almost hurt. Percy's heart was pounding. Fear. He had imagined the last fifteen seconds, surely he had. Nothing happened like this. No one reacted like he just had.

Then Percy said, "I'm..." but he hadn't planned what to say. So he repeated, "I'm..." and fell short again.  
Jason coughed. He stood, and backed up. He picked up where Percy had left off. "I'm going to the toilet."

So Percy was alone.

He hit the side of his head with the heel of his hand and hissed, "Idiot!"

Whatever had been about to happen--most of which he was still quite sure that he had imagined--he had handled it in the worst way possible.

He was pretty sure Jason was angry at him, too. Which just made everything wonderful.

It probably wasn't even what he thought it was--why would it be? Jason hadn't even moved that much. Percy had overreacted.

The more he analysed the situation, the more wroth he became with himself.

He couldn't be there when Jason came back out. He had to have some time to gather what he'd say, what lie he'd spin, what excuses he'd make.

He left Jason's room and went down the stairs. He wanted nothing more than the comfort of the great stone stairwell, nothing more than a place to hide that no one would think to look.


	16. Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL. I wrote so much today. I'm on a fricking roll. Like damn.

It was over an hour before Jason came downstairs.

Percy, not knowing anywhere else to go, had just curled up as close to a motionless ball as he could on one of the Public Space sofas and attempted to hide in his own brain.

He thought that it was a pretty pathetic thing to do for a fifteen-year-old, but what else was he supposed to do? Confront his emotions? No, thank you.

He felt Jason before he heard or saw him. The sofa cushion shifted downward under his added weight, and his fingers ghosted over Percy's shoulder. Then he drew his hand away. Percy felt unexpectedly angry. Jason had acted strange--he still was; this wasn't Percy's fault.

Jason sighed. "Perce."

Percy replied with something that wasn't quite words, but instead closer to an intelligent groan.

"Percy."

Percy didn't to move. He thought, leave me alone forever. He thought, _fucking touch me already._ He thought, _I should've let you kiss me._ He thought, _I was stupid for thinking you wanted to kiss me._

He heard Jason sigh, and he felt Jason shift down into a more relaxed position. He clearly believed he was going to be there for a while.

Percy unfurled slightly; his spine was aching. The back of his head hit Jason in some way or another, maybe his calf, maybe his thigh. It didn't matter. Like a reflex, it was so quick, Jason reached down and threaded his fingertips through the hair above Percy's ear.

It was not normal, not for them, not for anyone. But it was lovely. So neither spoke.

"Perseus," Jason said. He sounded both tired and charged, and combined with his full name, the tone lit up something in Percy's stomach that he did not want to address at that particular time.

Percy responded simply by uncurling slightly more and bringing his fist up to his mouth. Jason brushed the hair back from the edge of his cheekbone. Percy closed his eyes.

"You're shaking," Jason commented. It was not the Right Thing to say, but it was A Thing that was said, and Percy simply shook his head and hunched his shoulders even closer together--if that was even possible while one was lying on one's side.

Jason asked, "You alright?" He didn't seem to want to be the only one speaking, but Percy wanted even less to have to respond, so he continued to be selectively mute.

Silence.

Jason sighed again. "God damn it, Percy."

It was a rare thing to hear Jason swear, and Percy instantly recognised it as a tactic to shock him into speaking. But he was very adamant on not wanting to speak, so it did nothing.

"Please talk to me."

Percy cleared his throat, Jason's hand stilled.

But it was simply that. A clearing of the throat. A stilling of the hand. Percy could feel Jason's anticipation. It crackled like excitement and settled down like dread.

But Percy didn't speak, so Jason muttered, "Whatever," and slid off of the sofa, retreating to the kitchen. Percy had no doubt that he would return.

It was a strange thing, missing someone while dreading even speaking to them. Percy was nervous, and Jason had caused the nervousness, but Percy was also aware that the best person to calm to nervousness at that moment was Jason.

Also, he desperately missed Jason's hand in his hair.

-

After a while--at least, it felt like a while to Percy, but in reality was closer to eight minutes--Percy sat up. He squashed himself as far into the corner of the sofa as he could go, pulling his knees up to his chest and crossing his arms over it petulantly. He was very aware, that in that moment, he was quite... teenager.  
And he really didn't care.

A few minutes after that, Jason returned. He set the two mugs he'd been carrying down on the social table in front of them, but didn't pick his back up. Instead, he sat cross-legged on the sofa, stance incredibly open and pleasantly unruffled, and looked at Percy. He was waiting.

When Percy spared him a glance, he suddenly felt angry again. Jason just looked fucking amused.

After a few more moments of silence, the majority of which Percy spent staring at Jason in his peripherals and trying very hard to look like he was not, Jason said, "I don't know what I did"--which, if Percy was right about what he saw, was a blatant lie. But he already knew he was wrong--"but I think this'll all be over faster if I just apologise. Which I don't have a problem with."

Percy glanced, Jason smiled. Percy looked away.

Jason continued, "So, I'm sorry. For freaking you out... if that's what I did."

Percy didn't respond, but Jason didn't seem to care. Jason just said, "And if whatever I did was too awful, although I hope it wasn't, I think Thalia won't have a problem opening the account and paying for a hotel."  
Most people, if they said that, would be joking--no, a more correct term was 'humourously caustic'.

But Jason was completely serious.

And that's what cracked Percy.

He sighed tremendously, dramatically, and wordlessly let himself fall sideways. He landed, peacefully defeated, with his head in Jason's lap.

Jason let out a streak of delighted laughter. "I take it you accept?"

Percy twisted up so he was facing Jason--upside-down, but close enough, and said, "Why are you like this?"

"Like what?"

Percy gestured with a flailing hand, trying to find an adjective that wouldn't make him sound like some sort of swooning creep.

"You're so... good."

Close enough.

Jason laughed. He was always laughing, then. He laughed even when he bit his lip.

Percy said, "You're ruining my plans to be an arsehole."

Jason grinned. "No, trust me, you're doing fine." There was no bite in it.

Percy stretched one arm above his head, because he suddenly felt so bubbly that he needed to move. It went nowhere in particular, until Jason wordlessly caught his wrist and loosely held it for a moment. Then he let go.

Percy giggled. (Why was he capable of making that noise? Fucking hell.) There was a slight, yet untranslatable, change in Jason's expression.

Jason asked, "What do you want for Christmas?"

Percy muttered, "Jesus Christ."

"I didn't think you were religious," Jason said, but he was lit up with mischief, and Percy knew that he had understood.

There was some more silence, comfortable silence, until Jason said, "We're leaving the house tomorrow."

"Your family...?"

"No, us. I wouldn't leave you here alone, and I wouldn't make you come along on a family thing. It's us."  
Percy smiled at that. At 'us'. He couldn't help himself. "What are we doing?"

"Shopping. I don't have an owl, so if we want to get Piper and Annabeth's presents to them by Christmas, we have to send them by tomorrow evening."

Percy reached up and flicked Jason's chin. Good, good, good.

How very much he wanted to be kissed.

He sat up, and he felt very dizzy, but along the way Jason caught him by the stomach and pulled him close that his shoulder fit neatly under Jason's chin and his stomach even more neatly under Jason's arms.

Percy thought that perhaps he'd be held there, but that was too much to ask for, because in a moment after Jason had said, all brightness and humour, "I'm glad you're not angry," Percy was released, and Jason slid off the sofa again.

Jason began to climb the staircase, Percy called after him.

"It's late, Jackson. And we're up early tomorrow. We're sleeping."

"We're always up early."

"Earlier."

Percy followed Jason up the staircase.

-

Percy settled onto his mattress and looked up at the ceiling. "We're not normal, are we?" he asked.  
Jason's response was half-muffled by a pillow. "Hm?"

Percy turned to look at him. Jason slept with the covers only covering his legs, for some reason, and that night his shirt didn't even have sleeves--what was he doing, trying to kill off the Jackson bloodline? Percy hadn't even known that Jason owned shirts like that. (Percy had already confronted the possibility that the Jackson bloodline might die with him--at least biologically. He didn't really care enough about things like that to think about it. Annabeth cared. She was always going on about spectrums and fluidity. Percy never gave his own opinions.)

Anyway.

Percy traced the curves of Jason's shoulders, the slight dip of his relaxed spine in his head.  
It was nothing spectacular. But if that was true, then why had Percy memorised it instantly the first time he'd seen it?

Percy replied to Jason with, "Like, we're..." he tried, yet again, to come up with something that made him sound less creepy than he felt. "...Touchy. I don't... I don't think most people--friends, I mean--do that."  
Jason didn't turn to face him, but Percy watched the motion of his half-asleep shrug. "We do," was all Jason said. "And it doesn't hurt anything."

Percy thought, except me. But he said, "True."

Jason shrugged again. "I guess I'm... 'touchy'. And you are, too, I think, so it works. It fits."

"...Yeah."

Jason was laughing, either because he was about to say had a double meaning or because he was tired. Probably both. "It's us, really. We fit, really. We fit, Jackson."

Percy tried to run ahead of his rapidly accelerating heartbeat. "What's with calling me 'Jackson' tonight?" He added, as an afterthought, "Grace."

A third shrug. "Suits you."

Another period of silence. Comfortable silence. Silence with Jason wasn't silence as Percy usually knew it to be. Silence wasn't a thing anymore. It wasn't something that had to be filled or entertained. It was simply the absence of sound. Things could be said at other times.

Percy felt like he had all of the time in the world.

"G'night, Jay," he said.

It broke the silence, but that didn't matter, either.

"You've never called me that before." Jason's voice came out funny.

"I haven't?"

"I don't think so."

"Oh. Well, night, anyway."

"Night, Jackson."

-

All he could think was, nononononononononononono--Percy couldn't even tell what exactly was wrong. Something cataclysmic. Heartbreaking. Apocalyptic. The bottom of his stomach fell. He bit down his scream.

It came anyway.

Blood in his throat, blood in his ears. He was frighteningly numb. (What was going on?)

It was pathetic to dream of fear, and only fear. Was he dreaming? Was it simply fear? Those were the questions to ask.

Half-asleep is where the horrors reigned. When everything that was true became horrid and false. He couldn't make it there for very long.

-

But then he was awake.

And it was not a normal awake. He was awake, and Jason Grace was kneeling over him.

"Percy?" Was the first thing that Jason said, even though it was very clear that Percy was right there and even more clear that he was awake.

Percy nodded. His throat was dry. His eyes were wet. He wanted to reach for Jason's hand, although he didn't. Because he couldn't see well enough in the dark, because his own hand was trembling so much it was hard for him to take much control, because he was a goddamn coward.

"Percy," Jason repeated. His soft voice was like an anchor. "What were you dreaming about?"

Although his throat felt very dry, Percy's voice came out thick and wet. "I don't know." It sounded stupid, weak, even to him.

"That's... that's fine." Jason placed his fingertips on Percy's shoulder. "Do you--do you want... like, water or something? Or--?"

Jason didn't finish. He was cut off by his own surprised hitch of breath when Percy wordlessly hooked his arms around Jason's hips, burying his face in the side of Jason's stomach.

"Oh--okay." Jason skimmed his fingertips along Percy's shoulder blades, which Percy found surprisingly comforting.

"You know," Jason said, and he gently disentangled himself from Percy's grasp. He kept one hand on Percy's wrist. Percy could feel his own pulse beating back off Jason's hand, fast as a hunted rabbit. He stumbled blindly after Jason as he was pulled. Jason didn't finish the sentence, or Percy never heard him. Perhaps he didn't mean to.

Jason directed Percy to the bed. "In." It was a demand, but somehow, his voice remained undemanding.  
Percy didn't argue. Jason's mattress was softer than the one on the floor, the sheets tangled around his legs, unobtrusive and grounding.

Jason climbed in after him, and for some reason, Percy hadn't been expecting that.

That time, they wasted no time with awkwardness and preamble and separating themselves with layers of sheets. Percy wanted it more badly than he was willing to admit even to himself, and for once, Jason was willing to supply without any guesswork having to be done on Percy's part.

Jason's arms and chest made a good blockade from the rest of the world. His waist and hipbone made a good anchor to hold. His hands made good distractions as they wound through Percy's hair.  
Black tea. Pine. Lavender. Percy breathed in, as deep as he could with his tear-clogged nose. He sighed, audibly.

Before he could cringe at himself, Jason laughed breathlessly.

"Wake me if you need anything." It was a million-times repeated sentence, but Percy nodded anyway, his face just above Jason's collar. His lips pressed lightly onto the soft skin of Jason's neck.

Jason brushed his fingers through Percy's hair. He said, "Really, though."

Percy didn't answer. He was too busy trying not to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told u that angst would be solved.


	17. Seventeen

Percy woke, for the second time, feeling paradoxically calm.

Percy woke, for the second time, before Jason.

He would never find out the myriad of interlocking positions that they had struck during the night, but he knew the one they were in then: rather close to the one in which they'd fallen asleep, but legs crossed haphazardly together and Percy's hand curled over the back of Jason's jaw.

Jason's ribcage expanded and shrunk steadily, pressed up close against Percy's. Percy focused on the feeling of Jason's wrist resting lazily in the dip of his waist.

Percy kept his hand where it was--he'd have to be an idiot to move it--and ran his thumb along Jason's cheekbone. Jason's skin looked soft. It felt softer than it looked.

Jason made a quiet, wordless, sleeping sort of sound and unconsciously adjusted his cheek on the pillow. Doing so made him shift even closer to Percy--which Percy hadn't even thought was possible.

His chest ached.

-

In sleep, Jason had no boundaries. In an innocent shift, his hips slid roughly against Percy's. Percy's gut tugged experimentally. He mentally told it to leave him the fuck alone.  
But he really couldn't stop his brain from flicking through what seemed like all the impossible possibilities.

Looking at Jason, his stomach flickered deviously. He cursed himself.

He would have to climb over Jason to get to the toilet, or over the end of the bed frame, both which seemed like pretty terrible options.

 _Don't think about that_ , he told himself, _don't think about--oh, my God, Perseus fucking Jackson you fucking sexually frustrated idiot._

He went for the bed frame.

Moments after untangling himself from Jason and trying to sit up, a half-asleep Jason latched an arm around his waist, holding him fast.

One of Jason's limbs was uncomfortably close to the source of Percy's problems.

"...S'wrong?" Jason's voice was groggy and innocent and sun-permeated.

Fuck his life.

"Nothing," Percy answered, quiet and instinctual. "Just need to use the toilet."

Jason seemed satisfied. He let go. "Come back," he mumbled, and it was hard to tell if he was trying to be funny or not.

-

Percy felt a lot less awful about it than he thought that he would, upon returning to the bed.

Jason had drifted across both of their spots, and, laughing as quietly as he could, Percy nudged him over. Jason rested his cheek against Percy's bare calf a few moments later, drawing nonsensical patterns with his fingertip on Percy's ankle and humming something under his breath.

Percy looked down to Jason's lips. He kept still, his hands motionlessly propping him up.

    This was restraint.

"Weren't we supposed to be doing something productive today?" Percy asked.

"What time is it?"

Percy, flicking his gaze to Jason's clock, was surprised to learn that it was only six twenty-eight in the morning, and he said this.

"Technically we have two minutes," Jason responded through a yawn, "but I think it's better if we just go now."

Percy said, "You're serious."

Jason was indeed serious. He tugged Percy out of bed after him and they both consulted the injustice of having to be dressed somewhat respectably to leave the house.

-

Jason didn't leave the room when he changed his clothes.

Well, he didn't face Percy or anything, but Percy, theoretically, could've turned around at any point and seen Jason's Actual Naked Body.

Theoretically.

    And Jason, theoretically, could've turned around at any time and seen Percy's Actual Naked Body.

    Theoretically.

-

    "What?" Percy asked. "No posh driver?"

    Jason laughed. "Nah, it's not too far. And besides, it's Andrew's off day."

    The tube trip to the outlets wasn't very far, Jason was right, but for Percy it was still incredibly exciting.

    He had only ever on a below-ground train twice before, and one was when he was too young to remember it.

    So while he could tell that Jason was made slightly uncomfortable by the sheer amount of people, the fast-paced atmosphere, and the gritty professionalism of it all, Percy was simply delighted.

    Jason watched Percy question everything with something akin to endeared amusement, and while that expression would've normally made Percy quiet down, it didn't with Jason. He didn't feel like he'd done anything wrong.  
The handles on the ceiling seemed to be a nuisance to everyone else. Jason said he didn't like going underground. But skimming over the ground at lightning speed, Percy felt as if he were flying. And, underneath the Earth, that wasn't really a bad thing.

-

Jason's flat was in London.

But only now did Percy feel as if he was actually in London.

Jason told him that they were now in Covent Garden, a good place to shop for Christmas gifts.

Percy heard the second part of the statement, although Jason didn't say it: if you have the money.

Jason had the money.

There were shops all around, people milling. It was a cold day for December, only around four degrees. And that was during the warm bits of the morning, a few hours before noon.

The shopping adventure up until three o' clock consisted of the following:

-Trying on a leather jacket as a joke. (Percy thought Jason looked like a complete idiot and that he did, too, but Jason disagreed.)

-Ending up getting a rather offensive, but hilarious, t shirt for Rachel, the words on which that included, but was not limited to: "Sure, let's talk about it."

-The new age shoppe, where Jason bought a small bag of things that he refused to reveal, and Percy stressed over which tarot deck to let Jason pity-buy. (Also for Rachel.) (Jason insisted that it was more of a friendship-buy, Percy responded that he wasn't an idiot.) On the way out, Jason grabbed a tiny grey owl necklace from a rack that was not titled, but should've been, Mildly Racist Indigenously Inspired Pendants. (Annabeth wouldn't need to know about that bit when she received it.)

-The bookstore, where Percy instantly decided they had to get a book titled, "You Know You're Irish When", for Piper, and another book titled, "The Reconstructible 'Plas', and Other Remarkable Welsh Architecture of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries", for Annabeth. (It had a wordy title, but it was so incredibly Annabeth that it could not be passed up.)

-Also in the bookstore: hushed bibliomancy readings in the back corner, done from the cheesiest teen fiction and badly-written parenting advice books that they could find, none of them accurate, because they were both shit at it. The predictions included things like: "you will soon receive a starchy vegetable, use it wisely", or, "don't forget to do your homework".

-

    Percy had often found that when left to his own devices, he had a habit of consuming everything that might be edible over an extended period of time, thus leading to some kind of culinary Hell (possibly Heaven?) in which he would have something to eat in his hands at every moment for, oh, thirteen hours or so.

    It seemed that Jason also had this problem. (Could it even be considered a problem? Percy didn't really consider it to be a problem when Jason continuously bought them both food.)  
    These were just things that he thought about.

-

    It was kind of strange, he thought, to be sitting and eating lunch on the edge of a fountain with Jason, bumping their calves together playfully, pointing to different pigeons doing properly stupid things and saying, "That one's you," when he-didn't-even-remember-how-long-ago, he wouldn't have wanted to even be this close to Jason without stabbing his own individual facial features.

    Alright, that wasn't true. He had wanted to be this close to Jason. He just hadn't let himself admit it.

    God, he thought looking back, that was fucking stupid.

    He'd wasted a lot of time. (There was so much time.)

    Jason shivered next to him, although their shoulders were pressed close. He shifted to untie the coat from his waist and slip it on over the jacket he was already wearing.

    "When did it become uncool to keep your coat like this?" Jason asked, although Percy could tell by his tone that he wasn't really expecting an answer of the viable sort.

    Percy shrugged. "I don't think it ever did."

    "And what's that say about you?" Jason was grinning.

    Percy's laugh bubbled up before he could stop it. "You're so rude today."

    Jason played their shoulder off of each other, seeming pleased with himself.

    Percy leaned back, chest and ribcage stretched open. (With both freedom and realisation. There was so much time.)

    His hands splashed down into the water behind him, up to his elbows. He was an idiot.

    He froze for a moment, listening to Jason both asking if he was okay and then starting to good-naturedly laugh at him, but didn't respond to any of it. Instead, he contemplated whether the Ministry would come for him if he simply willed the water off of himself.

    He sat forward. Jason was still laughing.

    "Shut up," Percy said, and looped one of his frigid, dripping arms around the back of Jason's neck.

    Jason ducked out of his hold, his laugh finally dying off.

    Percy decided the Ministry would have to suck it up. His arms were fucking cold.

    The water rushed out of the sleeves in a million tiny droplets. Jason flinched when one hit him very meaningfully in the cheek, but he seemed marginally impressed by the other small drops as they hurled themselves back into the fountain.

    "If someone saw that," Jason said, "we could both get arrested."

    Percy shrugged. "But it's kinda cool."

"It's more than kind of cool."

Percy shrugged again.

-

It was late December, so by around some time right before four-thirty, the sky was darkening. The lights in the different shops and around the general area of Covent Gardens started lighting up.

"Was that there when we got here?" Percy asked.

"Yeah," Jason responded, factual to the point of humour, "there's a seven-metre-tall silver reindeer."

Percy stared up at the reindeer. "All the time?"

Jason stared with him. "Just December."

"In Wales, we have horse skeletons."

Jason didn't flinch, exactly, but Percy was sure he saw him half-cringe out of the corner of his eye. "Really?"

Percy laughed a little. (He refused to call it a giggle. Nope. Never.) "Nah, not anymore. But my nan used to talk about it. It was a caroling thing. I think."

"What the hell?"

Percy shrugged. "Like, people would sing. And carry around these giant horse skulls. I don't know. Probably still happens somewhere. Down south, I think. S'called Y Fari Lwyd."

"That's kind of terrifying."

"Mm."

It was progressively darkening, and more and more people were drifting into Covent Garden. Jason and Percy continued to stand, shoulders almost touching (and also, Percy noticed with triumph, only around half a head from being equal, as opposed to a full one), and just for a moment, Percy found himself suddenly reckless enough to softly brush the backs of their hands together. He felt Jason stiffen minutely next to him. (For some unspoken, unexplained reason, hands felt different. Bigger.)

Percy felt Jason relax, like all his muscles were made of ice and had suddenly started to melt. There were a few seconds of heartrending limbo, then Jason hooked their little fingers together.

Percy froze. He said, "That's a fucking massive reindeer."  
Jason laughed, eighty-five percent nerves. But he didn't let go.

-

Percy asked, rather unkindly, "Are you actually being funny?"

Jason defended, "What? They're comfortable."

They were both referring to Jason's fingerless quidditch gloves, which he had slipped on as it had gotten both darker and colder.

"And I'm also starting to think that they're the only gloves you own."

Jason ducked his head down, but Percy still caught some of his grin. "That's also true. But I think you're just jealous."

They were walking along the edge of Covent Garden, ready to leave, a large, disorganised tote bag swinging from Jason's wrist. It was full dark. Jason glowed softly.

"Of what? They make you look like a bad nineties punk rock musician."

"Of the fact that I won't get hypothermia."

Percy grumbled, "We don't talk about hypothermia," in response to which Jason started to laugh.

Jason shifted his elbow against Percy's, which was really all he could do with Percy's hands stored safely in his own pockets. "Hey, I thought that night was fun, apart from the part when you almost died. You were cool."

"Ha."

Jason stopped walking. "I'm serious."

Percy kept walking for a moment, confident that Jason would catch up after a minute. He shrugged. "S'just elementals stuff. I don't know why you're so impressed by it."

Jason did move to catch up with him then, but he simply stopped again, and made Percy stop walking with a hand on his shoulder. Percy hand to stop himself from leaning backward: Jason's chest was right there. He could get away with it, probably, too. For a few seconds at least.

That was all he wanted. A few seconds. A few seconds where he was able to have Jason like he wanted him, not because Jason was begging his forgiveness, or because Percy was coming out of the thick of a nightmare. Not because he had fucking hypothermia.

He realised that he was rather tired. Not just that night, although he was. That week. That holiday. In general.

Tired of a lot of things. Of pretending that he didn't feel every time Jason touched him, magnified by a thousand. That he didn't think about kissing him almost every fucking time he was close enough to. And most times that he wasn't. Of skating around something huge and terrifying and lovely like it wasn't even there.

Some of his dreams.

Fucking hell.

In their walking, they had slipped out to the quieter, darker outsides of Covent Garden. Old ladies' tea shops and the like. No one was around those parts that late at night, just after ten-thirty. There was still the occasional taxi zipping by on the street, but no one walking.  
Jason's hand burnt itself into his shoulder. Percy closed his eyes. He felt five hundred years old. He also felt like he wanted to turn around and press his lips to Jason's and deal with the disgust and get it over with and hate it all and think about it all the time while telling himself that he never would ever again. He also felt like Jason was about to make a grandiose, Gryffindor speech.

Jason took a deep breath; Percy got the feeling that he was not about to be disappointed.

"No, really," Jason said. Percy sighed, the kind of sigh you sigh when you feel as if you've heard something before. He turned to face Jason.

"No, really, what?"

"No, really, I think you're cool."

"Gee, Jason, thanks."  He couldn't skirt any more edges today. He wanted to sleep. Preferably in Jason's arms, no questions asked, no strings attached. And fucking forget about it the next morning. Because that was their thing now, apparently.

He wanted to kick something.

Jason rolled his eyes, showing a rare flicker of dark annoyance. He said, almost as if Percy hadn't spoken, "You've got this whole enigma thing going on. And I can't get you, but I know I--but it's okay, because... but it's, like--it doesn't make you look like a pretentious arsehole? Like, it kind of does, I guess, but I..." he trailed off, and Percy realised that Jason was flushed. He looked fragile; it set something alight in Percy's chest.

The edge of Jason's palm crept to the edge of the bare skin of Percy's neck. Percy sighed.

"Jason," he said.

"...Yeah?" Fragile.

Percy pushed Jason's hand off of his shoulder, and he didn't miss the flash of hurt that went across Jason's face. He didn't have time to deal with that right then, though. He didn't have time to think about anything else but what was right ahead, not even his own fear.  
He took Jason's face in both of his hands and kissed him.

Jason went rigid for a moment against him, then softened, moving one clumsily surprised hand to Percy's hip. It was still, and soft, and dry, and chaste, but it took over every single part of Percy's brain.

Well, not every part. There was a very small part of his brain that was letting him know that his calves were aching from holding him up on his toes for so long. So he first let his hands slip, dropping from Jason's neck to trace the barest fingertip path down the sleeves of his coat. Percy wanted to tangle his fingers with Jason's own, but that felt like too much. He didn't want to scare Jason away. (Which seemed ridiculous, in a way--after all, what were they doing then?)

And then he lowered himself down onto his heels, which made their lips finally separate. Percy felt the distance in his chest, his stomach, the parts of his mouth that produced the taste of adrenaline.

Jason's eyes were closed. Percy's weren't. He took in everything he could before the explosion: the silence around them, the emptiness of the road, the messiness of Jason's hair where Percy's hand had temporarily swept through it, the pinkness of Jason's face, the subtle, wanting part of his lips.

Jason opened his eyes. He still held Percy close by his back. The air was cold on the bits of skin that used to be pressed to Jason's.

There was no explosion.

Percy didn't know what was happening. He didn't know what was supposed to happen. He said, "Fuck."

Jason cracked a tiny, private smile. He cast his eyes down and softly bit his bottom lip. Percy's heart did somersaults. God fucking damn him.

Percy continued what he was going to say before the kiss. "Learn to talk."

"...Okay." Jason turned to face the road.

Jason didn't face Percy, but Percy couldn't see anything but bewilderment in Jason's expression. Maybe the negativity would come later, but just then, he couldn't stop himself from grinning.

His heart thrummed in his chest, he shifted impatiently from one foot to the other. His lips still felt warm. He wanted to take Jason's hand, but Jason was holding the tote bag, knuckles strained to white. Percy was sure that his other hand, gripping his phone, was the same.

Their shoulders weren't touching, and the single-digit number of centimetres between them felt like an entire country.

Jason coughed. He said, "I'm going to call a taxi."


	18. Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOH that took a long time
> 
> Seriously tho this is the third version ive written and the first one i havent scrapped jfc

“So, what're you lads up to tonight? Ragin’ parties? Pubs in Covent? Lotsa fit birds, aye?”

Percy shared an amused glance with Jason in the back of the taxi. The cab driver, who was fifty (at least), had tried to strike up conversation with his two young customers. The slang was used correctly, technically. (At least, from what Percy knew of modern London slang.) But it was hard not to flinch nonetheless.

As the driver rambled, and Jason or Percy occasionally offered a placating response, Percy couldn't keep his gaze from drifting. Drifting to the dark and misty London that was passing outside, lit up by fake light. The frost creeping up on the cab windows. Jason: His nervously ticking jaw, his skittish hands. The lip he wouldn't stop biting. Percy thought, I kissed that lip, I kissed that boy, I kissed him.

He wouldn't ever be able to do it again, he knew somewhere deep in his head. In his chest. That had been it. Those ten seconds. Jason was probably never going to even touch him again. Percy knew that.

They'd still be friends. Jason wasn't that rude. They'd still be friends and they'd never speak of what happened on the twenty-third of December and Percy would pretend he'd gotten over Jason even though he never really would and everything would be... fine.

Everything would be normal.

Was it worth it? Percy thought about it. His lips were still faintly warm, although he must have been imagining it.

-

Halfway back to the flat, it starting to rain. Drizzly at first, almost pleasant, turning into pounding sheets of water at which the cabbie consistently swore.

They got back to the flat round eleven fifteen because of traffic--there was some show that a ton of people were driving home from, or something--and Percy waited in the doorway of the complex while Jason paid the driver and fetched the bag.

They were silent the whole walk up. Percy was afraid to talk, afraid of what he would say and afraid of how Jason would respond. Jason's mouth was pressed in a thin, nervous line as they climbed the stairs, as he dug around for his key card, as they both slipped inside. Thalia was nowhere to be found, nor Beryl. Sleeping, most likely, in Thalia's case. Or at someone else's house. And Beryl... working, probably. Although Percy didn't know what the vague title of “work” implied for an actress that late at night.

Percy followed Jason up the staircase. They had both left their shoes at the bottom; it was habitual now. Once in the room, Jason shucked off his shirt, instantly disappearing into the toilet. The shower flickered on a few moments later.

Percy sat on the edge of the bed. And he thought about how when Jason came out, he'd simply switch with him in the toilet as soon as possible. With decent luck, he wouldn't even have to speak.

And then when he was done showering. Percy thought about that, too.

Fuck.

He sunk down onto the edge of the bed. Fuck.

He thought about it all, and then he laid back on the bed and covered his face with his hands. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

What the fuck had he been thinking?

He stayed like that for a while.

Jason appeared in the doorway to the toilet, leaning against the doorway and looking as serious as someone can when all they're wearing is boxer-briefs and a towel draped around their shoulders. Percy looked at him through a crack in his fingers. His arms were crossed over his chest; he looked rather stoic.

Which was Jason's version of pissed.

Fuck.

They stayed like that for a while.

Jason crossed over to the closet, and Percy slipped past him into the toilet.

 

-

Percy loved water. It didn't matter where, and it always made him feel better. When he was a little kid, he didn't throw tantrums. If he was angry, he would go to the sink and play with it until he either felt better or someone told him to stop wasting water.

He stood under the water now, Jason's high-tech shower head raining onto the back of his shoulders. He didn't feel much better.

He stayed longer than he normally would, anyway, because at least he was alone.

He turned off the water, it was smooth and quiet. The only sound was the water dripping off of his hair and his own breathing. At least he was alone.

He put his forehead against the shower wall. "Fuck." He hadn't expected to regret it this much.

"You're gonna die one day," he reminded himself. "So you might as well get this over with."

He slipped on a shirt to join his pants and make himself at least partially decent, already dripping water down to his shoulder blades, and went back into Jason's room.

Jason was, on purpose or not, not facing Percy. His courage quickly deflated.

He took his place on his mattress, which felt psychologically colder from its day of disuse, but he curled up on it, anyway.

It was uncomfortable—the whole goddamn room was uncomfortable, really. He stared at the ceiling, he heard Jason shift, but neither of them said anything.

-

It was very clear, if Percy looked at the unmeasured rise and fall of Jason's chest, that his friend wasn't asleep. Which was good, he guessed, but also kind of terrible, since it meant that he was still getting ignored.

He stood, ignored Jason's surprised hitch of breath, and moved closer to the bed.

He sat down beside Jason—who had put on a worn t-shirt since his shower—on the edge of the bed; it felt like the right thing to do. He couldn't bring himself to say anything.

At last he found himself able to say, "So, that was a thing that happened."

In his head, Percy heard, 'So, That was a Thing that happened.'

And It was.

"Mm."

More silence.

"But," Jason said, "why'd you do it?"

How Percy longed to be done with this. Done with It. He shrugged.

Jason bristled, sitting up, sudden and terrible. Percy thought he knew how Jason must've felt from years of nightmares—laying against something downy and soft, your entire body as coiled as a wire. "Don't shit me, people have to have a reason for something like that." Percy heard, 'something like That.' Jason continued, "What was yours?"

It was the first time Percy had seen Jason be actually angry since the day at the bridge. And even then, he had been stony. Dealable. Now he was fire, and gasoline, and more fire. Percy burned. How very Gryffindor.

Percy didn't know what to say. He couldn't. He said, "I... I didn't..."

"Oh, fuck off."

Percy flinched at the cuss, Jason didn't soften. Perhaps he didn't see. Perhaps he didn't care.

Percy couldn't make himself feel angry, at least, not yet. His insides were on fire, but all it gave him was pain.

One second, two seconds, three seconds, four seconds. Percy drew his knee up t his chest and wrapped his arm around it. He said, "I don't know."

Jason glared at him, venom, venom, venom. That look made Percy feel quite stupid.

"Was it some kind of fucking dare?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Who was it?"

"No one," Percy said. Followed by, "Me."

"Yeah, I got that. Was it Rachel? It was Rachel."

Percy did not want to cry just then. That was the last thing he wanted. (Well, really, the last thing he wanted was for Jason to be suddenly and magnificently pissed at him. But, look! That was happening anyway.) But his voice sounded like it regardless of his wants. He kept his mouth to his knee, face half-hidden. "Shut up. It was me, why would I... it was just me."

He wanted Jason to calm down. He wanted Jason to understand. He wanted Jason to touch him. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to go home. He didn't know what he wanted.

Jason sighed, tight and barely restrained. "It really wasn't anyone else, was it?"

Percy shook his head, eyes squinted shut.

Jason said, "And it wasn't a joke."

Percy swallowed as much of the thickness in his throat as he could. "God, Jason, no. I wouldn't..." he stopped, his voice had finally broken. He put his knee into his eye socket; he was never looking up.

Silence. At least two horrible minutes of it.

Jason tugged at Percy's bicep, finally succeeding in pulling it away from how it had been stuck closely to Percy's thigh. Percy let himself be pulled, because fuck it, because he wanted to be touched, because Jason's hands didn't sear him on contact.

The pine must've been from soap, then. Jason was scented stronger of that than anything else. The fabric of his shirt was soft, it pressed up against Percy's cheek.

It was like Jason was thawing under him. He leaned back against the bed frame, Percy leaned against him, tucked hastily under one of his arms.

Jason sighed into Percy's scalp. He whispered, "Fuck."

Percy, despite himself, despite the situation, laughed wetly. "Same."

Jason settled his chin on the top of Percy's head. "M'sorry."

"Okay."

"I'm an arsehole."

Percy shrugged. Then he nodded. Jason laughed; the sound of it traveled up from his stomach, past Percy's ear through his chest. Percy pressed his face harder against Jason's shirt.

Jason's fingers remained static on his knee. Percy reached up and took his hand.

Thoughtlessly—but, at the same time, with all of the thought in the world—he played their fingertips off of each other, palms never quite touching. He turned slightly into Jason and inhaled. Surprisingly, the scent helped him get his head together, although it normally scattered it.

"Don't mean to ruin the mood," Jason said, (Percy wasn't quite sure what the mood was) "but did you just smell me?"

"You smell nice," Percy admitted. "Like"—he rubbed his cheek slightly against the fabric of Jason's t shirt, completely aware of what he was doing, but at the same time, not really caring—"tea, and pine, and lavender, I think."

"Glad to know I smell like a pensioner."

"Kinda," Percy decided.

"God, you weren't supposed to agree."

They were both whispering, although Percy wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because the light was off, and the situation seemed to call for it. Maybe it was because this whole thing felt secret—Percy's head against Jason's chest, half curled up in sheets at the top corner of Jason's bed.

"I think," Percy said, "that I'm done."  
He was referring to crying, and took his hand away from Jason's to wipe his cheek.

Jason's hand followed his. “I never know what to do when people are crying.”

"I never know what to do when I'm crying." Percy was trying to be funny, but there was too much mucus in his throat for him to sound anything less than pathetic.

Jason said, "I'm sorry, really."

"It's fine."

"It's really not."

"Well, then, we can forget about it."

"I don't think it works like that."

"It should."

Jason stared at Percy for a moment, and Percy found it impossible not to stare back. Jason's legs made a solid barrier around Percy's hips; he leaned his forearms on Jason's shoulders.

Percy dipped their foreheads together. He suddenly found himself feeling humorous. Maybe it was old instincts, but he thought it incredibly easy to tease Jason when they were like this.

"It can work like that," he said, "for us."

Jason took the new point of contact in stride. "What makes us any different?"

"For one," Percy said, and played his fingers across the back of Jason's neck, "I consider that payback. For all the years I was an complete arsehole."

"You weren't that bad."

"I fucking hated you, Jay."

Jason pulled their foreheads apart to laugh. "Mm. I always thought you were just... prickly."

Now Percy couldn't stop himself from laughing. Prickly. It was so optimistic, it was funny. He tucked his face into Jason's neck. Jason's pulse fluttered skyward beneath his lips. He supposed he could’ve stopped himself from doing what he did next. He supposed he could’ve rationalised. But he didn’t. And he pressed his lips to the spot just below Jason's jaw.

Jason didn't react. He was still kind of laughing. Laughing into Percy's shoulder, his neck, the space in between. Percy kissed his jaw again, farther forward. It was a game of chance, of sheer testing-your-luck, of something close to bravery but not quite there. He could’ve stopped himself. If he’d wanted to be stopped.

Jason still didn’t react. Granted, they were pressed so close together in so many places that it really would’ve been difficult to catch the barest tracing of Percy’s lips along the line of his jaw.

 _This is insane_ , Percy thought as he grazed his actual teeth lightly over Jason’s neck. This wasn’t supposed to be a thing he could just fucking do.

Jason didn’t stiffen under him. But he did say, sounding almost amused, “Perseus?”

Percy froze in place. “…Mm.”

“What’re you doing?”

Strangely, although he couldn’t explain why—and he really didn’t want to know—Percy felt invincible. He wound his fingers together behind Jason’s neck and he shifted to face him.

“I believe,” Percy said, “that I was working up to kissing you again, but if you’d like to request a change of plans, I’m sure that could be arranged.”

Well, there, he’d said it. If Jason wanted to get angry again, that was on him.

Jason stared at Percy for a few seconds. Then he said, “Jesus Christ.” Then he said, “No, that’s absolutely fine.” Then Percy was laughing. (Again.) Then Jason kissed him. His lips tasted like Percy’s own tears.

Jason had to have kissed someone before, Percy decided, because he seemed to know what he was doing. (Yes, he was still stuck on that.) Jason would barely bite Percy’s lip, bringing his tongue over a moment later to dull the slight pain. One of his hands rested on Percy’s hipbone, unmoving, but the fact that the only thing separating them from touching was one layer of weak pant fabric was enough to drive Percy almost mad. Jason’s other hand gripped the bedpost.

Percy pulled away; he had to breathe. When Jason spoke to him, he was close enough that Percy couldn’t tell if the slight movement he felt against his lips was Jason’s own or his breath.

“Are we supposed to talk about this?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Is that how it works?”

Percy smiled as best he could against Jason’s stormy, all-too-serious expression. He tipped Jason’s chin up with a finger, having to move himself slightly back so that their lips wouldn’t touch and he could speak. “It could, for us.” He motioned Jason forward. Jason laughed against his lips.

They stayed like that for a while.

-

They laid side by side on the mattress, facing each other, still and untalking, Percy occasionally making strange expressions that sometimes achieved his goal of Jason’s laughter.

“We have to talk about it sometime,” Jason said, quiet, almost as if he didn’t want Percy to hear.

Percy reached forward and put a single fingertip to the source of Jason’s pulse. “Eh.” He surfed the small motion of Jason’s nervous swallow with his finger.

“If we keep,” Jason said, “…what’ll we… never mind.”

“What?”

Jason shook his head.

“No, what were you gonna say?”

“I just… never mind, Percy.”

Percy sighed. He brought his finger back up to that pulse. He traced down to the pit of Jason’s neck, hooked his finger under Jason’s neckline and drew along his collarbone.

Jason closed his eyes. “What are we doing?”

Percy appraised him. “You seem awfully nervous about it.”

Jason said, “You seem awfully calm about it.”

Percy half-shrugged and didn’t say anything. He thought, _I’ve had a lot of time to premeditate._ He brought his thumb to Jason’s lip, tugging down. He couldn’t stop touching—there were plans he’d had for years, and they were all being enacted at once, and he felt like perhaps he should’ve been panicking, or crying, or scared, or something, but all he was really thinking was that Jason’s lip felt chapped under his thumb. And that they hadn’t before. And that it was probably his fault.

“What time is it?”

Percy twisted round to face the clock. “One fourteen.” He added, on second thought, “AM.”

Jason groaned and pressed his cheek into the pillow.

Percy’s hand tagged after him. He brushed back the spot near Jason’s ear. He couldn’t help smiling to himself. “Why d’you ask?”

“Mass tomorrow,” Jason explained. When he said ‘mass’, he sounded as if he’d meant ‘nuclear explosion’. Then he said, sighing, “Today, actually.”

“Your mum’s religious?”

Jason made a face. “Not really. I’m Christian, but she just does it to try and get our gran to like her again.” He shook his head. “And, still. I don’t think Jesus really cares if we go and sing for five hours on his birthday, regardless.” He looked apologetic. “I think you’ll have to go. It’s not something she’ll have me miss.”

Percy shrugged. “I don’t care. V’never been.”

“Your mum’s—”

“—‘Free-thinking’.” Percy grinned. “There’s a church right near us, Saint Elian’s, but we’ve never gone to it ’cause I never asked.”

“Say it again.”

“ ‘Free-thinking’?”

“The name.”

“…Elian?” Ee-lown.

“How is that spelled?”

“In Welsh? Or English?”

Jason shrugged. Percy said, “English, it’s E, L, I, A, N. In Welsh it’s Eh, L, Ih, Ah, Nn.”

Jason shook his head. “Diphthongs are strange.”

“What?”

“Diphthongs. The differing sounds two vowels make when put together.”

Percy stewed that recent information for a moment. Then he said, “Nerd.”

“Says the bilinguist.”

Percy, defeated, made a face. Jason mimicked it.

“I should sleep,” Jason said. “Gotta send the stuff early tomorrow.” He corrected himself, again, saying, “Today.”

Percy couldn’t help feeling a little hurt, being kicked out so soon, although he knew that Jason didn’t mean it like that. (He also knew that Jason didn’t mean it at all, that when they woke up later that morning he’d regret literally everything that had happened, but he tried not to think about that.) He resigned himself to saying, “Yeah, ’course,” and began to slide off the bed.

Less than a moment later, Jason grabbed his wrist. As soon as Percy looked back at him, whatever previous confidence he’d apparently had seemed to crumble, and he wordlessly pointed to the spot Percy had just inhabited next to him on the mattress.

Jason said, after a few awkward seconds of staring, “…Where’re you going?”

Percy, mildly confused, pointed to his mattress on the floor. Jason propped himself up (on one arm, as his other hand was still gripping Percy), indignant, and said, “You didn’t think I was gonna make you leave, did you?” He rolled his eyes—yes, from Jason Percy-Didn’t-Know-His-Middle-Name Grace, a Roll of the Eyes—and tugged Percy back into the bed, pulling him close by the waist.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to…”

Jason was still lying down, and Percy was sitting, which was kind of strange, but they made it work. Jason drummed a nonsense pattern on the hem of Percy’s pants, ever-so-slightly trying to subliminally pull Percy down onto the sheets with him.

“Yeah, no, I’m not gonna be alone after that.”

After That.

Percy had no idea what was going on. He settled himself next to Jason and didn’t fight Jason reaching feebly for his shoulder. Jason’s chin rested close to his scalp, on purpose or just due to height, Percy couldn’t tell. Jason still smelled of winter. They’d done this twice before. Nothing felt the same. Percy said, “Right. Okay.”


	19. Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1: i'm not trying to convert u. I'm a muslim let me live.  
> 2: guess who's not studying for their midterms and instead writing trash fanfiction. (Answer: THIS KID!!)

Percy woke up alone. His lips burned chapped, he had a persistent, throbbing headache (that was most likely due to the no doubt shoddy amount of sleep he’d gotten), and he was facing the wall, the cold, painted plaster alarmingly close to his face. He could tell, without even turning around, that Jason was not in the spot behind him.

He sat up and rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to get his head to stop thrumming in time with the analog clock that hung on Jason’s opposite wall.

Speaking of which, Percy checked the time. Eleven fifty-six. Late; close to being socially unacceptable. Not that Percy’d ever cared.

He couldn’t hear anyone moving on the lower floors. He decided that he cared just enough to push off the covers and go downstairs to find Jason.

Percy padded out of the room, not even bothering to pull on trousers since it was obvious nobody but Jason—and even if Jason—was around, and froze at the top of the staircase.

There was a woman passed out on one of the sofas.

Drawing hesitantly closer, Percy caught a very strong whiff of something caustic, bitter, and undeniably alcoholic. He peered over the edge of the couch, at the woman’s tangled swirl of product-filled blonde hair and the sequins plastering the fabric over his gently rising and falling chest. She wasn’t dead, then. That was a substantial relief.

She was pretty, Percy thought. Really pretty. He remembered her name now: Beryl. Jason’s mother.

He continued to stare.

The resemblance between Beryl Grace and her son was easy to see, really: the same regal cheekbones, the same attentively drawn jawline, if Beryl’s was a little more sharp. Her hair was the same colour as Jason’s, too, although streaked with darker, more yellow shades of blonde that Percy couldn’t decipher were dye or not. She loosely held the strap of a handbag next to the sofa, her arm carelessly slung over the side as if she’d simply collapsed there. The spider webbing of tired, delicate veins high on her cheeks and right below her eyes reminded Percy of a sleep-deprived look he’d seen on Jason a few times.

He was simply going to continue staring when a hand was hooked through his elbow and pulled him gently backwards, Jason saying, “I don’t want her to wake up. She only got home around seven hours ago. Was sick a bit, but I cleaned that up while ago. She’ll be fine.”  
It sounded more like Jason was talking to himself than Percy, but he wasn’t about to point that out, not with Jason’s fingertips pressed like desperate blades into the cold skin of his bicep.

“Right,” Percy mumbled in response. “…Why didn’t you wake me up? Like, when she showed up? I could’ve…” He trailed off, not knowing what he could’ve done. Been there? Helped clean? Said something funny? Been there?

He felt Jason shake his head, barely present just above Percy’s scalp. “Nah, she’s really fine. She’ll be up for church tonight. And…” he let go of Percy’s arm. “I thought I should let you sleep. ’Cause technically I should’ve been sleeping, too, but I had to mail stuff.”

Percy didn’t know what to say or do, really, so he decided on just tucking himself farther backward into Jason’s chest, letting Jason lean more heavily on the back of his shoulders. The sheer difference in the speed of Jason’s breathing before and after he buckled against Percy showed just how tired he was. Percy was tired, too, despite his almost nine hours of sleep. Emotionally tired. Mostly in a good way.

“Where’s Thalia?” Percy asked. He didn’t know her very well, but if there was anyone who could handle the situation better than Jason already had, it would be her. But Percy hadn’t seen her since the morning before.

“Left before mum came home,” Jason answered. He crossed his forearm across the front of Percy’s neck. At that point, most people would’ve panicked, but Percy knew that the arm wasn’t going to tighten; that Jason was just leaning. He reached up and very self-consciously tapped his fingertips along the jagged bone in Jason’s wrist.

Percy didn’t want to ask, but he did, anyway, “How often does this happen?”

Jason shrugged. “I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet while you’ve been here, honestly. But every few days.”

“Is this…?”

“Work? No, this is after.” Jason lightly squeezed Percy for a short moment. “But it’s part of the deal.”

“She’ll be fine,” Percy clarified.

Jason nodded succinctly over his scalp. “She’ll be fine.” He let Percy go, heading to the kitchen. “You want lunch?”

Percy took one last glance at the sleeping Beryl Grace. He said over his shoulder, “Yeah, thanks.”

-

Thalia baulked at being expected to go a church, of all places, with her mother, of all people. She made this very clear to both Beryl and Jason, Beryl who really didn’t seem to care, and Jason who had a very quiet but constant undercurrent of different variations of, “Please, Thals, I know I’m asking a lot but if you just—”

—He got very firmly shut down by an apologetic, but still ironclad, Thalia.

Now, twenty minutes later, Jason paced in front of the staircase, with Percy sitting on the bottom step, watching him intently and feeling something akin to concern. He was about to ask if Jason was okay when Jason said, as if he’d just had an epiphany and suddenly found his former, unenlightened self to be a complete idiot, “I should just go to the library.”

Percy was caught between responding in a number of ways, one being, “Remember that time I called you a nerd?” and another being, “You have a library?”

The one he settled on, though, was, “Mm?”

“Library,” Jason repeated. “It’s where I always go when I…” he trailed off, reaching up and threading his fingers through his hair, all the while breathing out, deliberate and forceful. “I think I’m gonna go mad before tonight, Percy.”

Silence. Whatever music Thalia was playing leaked a little through the walls and down the staircase, punctuating and accentuating the silence with the occasional knifish kick drum or bass drop.

Percy was pretty sure he liked Thalia.

He wasn’t quite sure how to respond, so he just said, “You’re not…” and then stopped. He did not know if Jason Was Not. So then he said, “Library seems good.”

Jason shifted down a back hall off of the public area that Percy hadn’t even known was a thing that was used, while Percy stayed on the steps. A few moments later, he heard Jason’s footsteps returning, and Jason took his wrist, guiding him down the hall as well. “You’re not getting out of this.” Percy wanted to respond indignantly, but Jason pulled them both into the library. He seemed to contemplate closing the door, but finally just left it alone. He pulled a chair away from the giant glass table in the centre of the room and sat down heavily, sighing.

“You’re doing swimmingly,” Percy noted, also pulling out a chair that was more expensive than his kidney and sitting down on it.

“Ha.”

Percy’s chair was the one’s closest to Jason’s, also the one that Jason happened to be facing. When Percy dipped dangerously on the chair, pushing it up onto its back legs and rocking back, back, farther back—Jason clamped his hand down on the edge and said, “If you break that, I’ll have to replace it.”

Percy stopped dipping the chair. “Are you okay?”

Jason seemed to think for a moment on that, which, despite himself, made Percy crack a small smile. Then Jason said, “Yeah. I…” and he stopped, swallowed, folded his hands over the back of his chair and leaned his chin on it. “Over exaggerated. It’s strange having you here.” (Percy tried not to take that the way he heard it.) Jason shook his head, rather small, as his cheek was trapped against his forearm. “But they are gonna start screaming soon, and that’ll be horrid.”

Percy reached across the gap between the parallel backs of their chairs to brush some stray, pale hair out of Jason’s eyes. His fingertips barely touched Jason’s skin, but Jason’s eyes went closed as if on cue, anyway. Percy asked, “This happens every year?”

“Mm. But my mum’s gonna forget about it before we leave, and Thalia never stays angry for long. So it’ll be fine.” He chewed his lip, which he did all the time, but it still made him look on edge. “And I’m fine. I just don’t like to be there when it happens.”

A thorough study session of Jason’s face let Percy think with general almost-certainty that Jason was telling the truth. (Why wouldn’t he? Still, sometimes Percy wished he could look into Jason’s head like Rachel could look into his. …Sometimes.)

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Percy blinked. “Like what?”

“You’re staring into my soul.”

Percy resumed his staring-into-Jason’s-soul. “I’m trying to see if you’re gonna have a crisis or not.”

Jason met Percy’s eyes and propped his chin on his hands. “I’m not gonna have a crisis.”  
Jason seemed to think for a few more seconds, then he said, “You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to. You can stay with Thalia.”

“Are you having a laugh? Of course I’m going.” He cracked a grin. He said, “S’new experience.”

He didn’t say, ‘I don’t want to know what you’ll think when you’re away from me.’ He didn’t say, ‘I’m pathetically invested in you.’ He didn’t say, ‘I would never leave you alone in a car with your mother.’ (Which was stupid. She was his mother. Percy just didn’t like her.)

Jason repeated, “ ‘New experience’.” His smile was a less frightening reflection of Percy’s.  
Just then, Thalia’s music flared louder, then snapped off. Jason sighed. Percy went on as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He brushed his fingertip over the apex of Jason’s cheekbone.

“Eyelash,” he explained.

There was murmuring, which grew progressively louder and louder until a door was slammed. Jason sighed again.

“They go quiet,” he said, “then one of them says something really terrible. Then they’re at it again.”

Sure enough, a few seconds later, Jason’s prediction was perfectly enacted.  
The whole debacle lasted maybe fifteen minutes, but it felt like it dragged on far longer.

“Every year,” Percy sought to clarify when it seemed like the argument was finally done.

“Sometimes on Easter, too.” Jason laughed the smallest bit, like he knew he was about to say something that only he understood. “And, one time, for my Confirmation, but that really doesn’t count.”

Percy’s vision righted itself after he shifted in confusion. Jason started to explain.

“S’like…” Jason might’ve been struggling to find words that satisfied him. “A coming of age thing. Where you bind yourself to the Church. I didn’t want to do it, but we thought it would make my gran happy.”

Thalia’s music crawled back to life through the floorboards. Jason let out a substantial breath. “What time is it?” He asked.

Percy looked around for a clock, eventually shrugging. “What of it?”

“I want to know if we have time to go somewhere before tonight.”

“What kind of somewhere?”

“You pick.”

Percy stood, pushing in his chair (he actually remembered to push in his chair) and saying faux-scornfully, “I don’t know London.”

Jason surveyed the room, pushing every few books back into the shelf. Percy barely leaned against the space next to the doorframe, watching that habit-ritual and waiting.  
Then Jason turned back. He reached one hand up to the back of his neck. “So, I know you’re not going to ask this, because you’re like that, and that’s fine—but am I still allowed to kiss you? Because yesterday I thought that was what you meant, but you didn’t mention it today—which I expected, ’cause, y’know, you’re you. But I just wanted to make sure because it’s kind of—”

“—Jason, you’re rambling. And…” Percy’s voice tripped. This was such a small moment that meant, to him, something so big. “Yeah.”

Jason clenched and unclenched one nervous fist at his side. He said, “Right.” Then he crossed the room to Percy.

Percy sighed, more laugh than air, and his back hit against the wall of the library, both forceful and obvious.

The tight knot of unsureness in the bottom of Percy’s stomach that had been there all day dissipated. The little concentrated blotch of ‘what-if-I-fucked-this-up-I-think-I-just-ruined-everything-why-am-I-like-this-oh-god’ was gone, chased by Jason’s hands on his shoulders. (And his neck, and his back, and beyond.)

Jason broke them apart for a second, laughing when Percy tried to pull him back. “Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t.”

Jason froze for a moment, working through Percy strange answer before realising and promptly biting his lip. “That sounds good, too.”

It wasn’t antagonism, not really—it wasn’t anything close to the hatred or even dislike that Percy used to feel towards Jason. He just liked to keep Jason on edge. So he hooked his finger into one of Jason’s unused belt loops and pulled him closer, just a little. So little it could’ve been mistaken for an accident. Jason’s incredible flush didn’t seem to think it was an accident. Percy bit down his grin.

He smelled nothing but blackness and pine, and felt nothing but Jason’s pulse under his hands, under his lips, against his stomach, against his hips. He pulled Jason closer again.  
There was a soft knock on the open door. Jason was off him without another second passing.  
Beryl, standing in the doorway, was about as substantial as a ghost. Percy was a little scared that if she touched something, she’d pass right through. Smoke-grey makeup smeared delicately around her eyes, drink-flush still lighting up her cheeks and neck. There was something both childlike and tragic in her short, glistening dress paired with her bruised, shoeless feet. She wasn’t so tall, without her pumps. She was actually about an inch shorter than Jason.

“Darling,” she said. She didn’t acknowledge Percy, but Percy didn’t acknowledge her. He was monitoring Jason’s face like a fluorescent green life meter. Jason was flatlining. Then there was a blip, a spark of emotion as his expression soured.

“I was thinking,” Beryl said again, not phased by Jason’s change of emotion, “that if you’d like to go somewhere before the service…”

“Did you ask Thalia?” Jason’s voice was warmer than frostbite, at least, but not by much.

“I’m sure she just—”

“—She won’t go. And I don’t think I will, either. Don’t ask later. I assume I’m to be ready at seven, like always?”

Percy stared at Jason. This was not normal. This was Jason with the Clenched Jaw. This was Jason, Cold and Commanding. Jason, Unknown. Percy suddenly had the strongest desire to take his hand, if not just to feel the same strong pulse he had a few minutes before.  
Beryl nodded, muted and embarrassed, and closed the library door when she left as soft as when she’d entered.

Jason tugged at his t shirt collar like it was choking him, and let out a breath. He turned back to Percy, and a millimeter before their lips touched again, Percy reluctantly caught Jason with an almost-forceful palm against his chest. The tip of Percy’s middle finger pressed between the two apexes of Jason’s collarbone.

Percy asked, “What was that about?”

Jason froze for a moment, obviously not expecting a pushback or a question. He said, one hand still catching the back of Percy’s neck, the other near the small of his back, “I don’t… I just hate it when…” he sighed, and let his hands drift off of Percy to tuck themselves in his own denim pockets. He sighed again. “Do you want the short explanation or the long explanation?”

Percy thought for a moment, still leaned up against to the wall next to the doorframe. He answered, “The better explanation.”

Jason responded to that with a slight smile, which Percy was grateful for. Then he said, “I don’t like it how she tries to parent us.”

Percy didn’t want to sound like a misunderstanding arsehole, but he didn’t understand. And he’d come to accept that he was an arsehole. He said, “She’s your parent. It’s kind of one of her jobs.”

Jason sighed, kind of like he was annoyed, and kind of like he was talking to Percy. Which was similar to the first possibility, Percy noted, but not quite the exact same. “But she only did it when she knew we were old enough to take care of ourselves. Or, at least, Thalia was old enough to take care of me. Back when it was actually important for her to care about us, she didn’t. She hated Thalia. Still does, it seems like, sometimes.” Jason stopped for a second. He didn’t seem distressed, or emotional, or anything. It was kind of unnerving, like this whole story he’d either told countless times before or had prepared for doing it.

He continued with, “We’re both mistakes. And bastards.” He said the words ‘mistake’ and ‘bastard’ so calmly, like they weren’t barbed, the way you would say ‘brunette’, or ‘tall’. “Our names are the names of my father’s wife’s mother and father. My father said we should be named that, I guess to say that we should’ve belonged to his wife.”

Percy said, “That’s sick.” It was all he felt he could say.

“It’s really not my mother’s fault. She didn’t know he was married until after she was pregnant with Thalia. I guess… I guess going back to him after that was a mistake, but she really had nowhere else to go. She was seventeen, no degree and no family who would take her, and there was this rich guy who said he loved her. And by the time Thalia was born, he’d made her a ‘star’ ”—Jason cut off, giving a little, dark sort of laugh. “That’s actor-speak for ‘pulled strings into getting her some sort of trick contract’. But she got money. And then… and then she had me. And if she hated Thalia before, she hated her even more then. And she never really cared, not enough. But whatever shit she’d given for Thalia up until then, when I was born, it just stopped. So I was mainly raised by Thalia, and sometimes my gran, and by”—he was laughing even more then, so much so that it kind of scared Percy—“by fucking Andrew, of all people. And she’s trying to get it together now, y’know? She’s trying to pretend like none of it ever happened. It’s bullshit, Percy, and I just have to live with it.”

Jason wrung his hands, perfectly nervously, perfectly sanely. They both dropped to his side in tightly clenched fists.

Percy didn’t know anything of what to do, so he did what felt right, which was silently worry away at one of Jason’s fists until his fingers softened enough to accept Percy’s entwining with them. Until Percy was able to press rhythms into the ridges of Jason’s knuckles with his fingertips. He pressed in time to Thalia’s music drifting through the house. Then he pressed in time to Jason’s pulse against his own wrist.

He thought of what Jason’d said. He thought about what that would be like. To Percy, his mother was everything. Sally’s approval and comfort and love meant the world. He wondered what it would be like to lose that. To have her make some half-arsed attempt to give it back.

To have her not want to give it in the first place.

He held Jason’s hand tighter. Jason gave a sudden, reciprocative squeeze. Percy asked, “You alright?”

Jason’s reply was dry. “Yeah.”

“Well, I’m not. You’ve made me have a crisis.”

Jason’s mouth quirked. “What is it with you and crises?”

Percy shrugged. “Dunno. C’mere.”

-

Jason’s fingers deftly looped layers of slippery tie fabric around Percy’s neck, causing Percy to make various noises of distress.

“S’only for a couple hours.” Jason’s voice was softer than the laugh that accompanied it. “And don’t you wear a tie every day at school?”

“Not really,” Percy admitted. “I just kind, like, hang it over my neck. And that seems to work.”

“Can’t believe Annabeth let you get away with that… look up a little, would you?”

Percy did, and Jason bit his lip in concentration as he made the final tug on the tie. It settled against Percy’s larynx. Percy made an uncomfortable, squirmy sound.

Jason consoled, “You look really nice. If that helps.”

“It doesn’t. I’m gonna suffer.”

“You don’t have to go.”

Percy grabbed Jason’s wrists from where they rested on his shoulders and forced them off of him. “I’m gonna go! Shut up.”

Jason let his wrists be held as he looked at the clock. “Speaking of, we should go.”

“Are we carpooling with your mother?”

Jason still busied himself with looking at the clock. “Yeah.” He looked back. “Sorry?”

“S’fine.”

-

Percy had often found that London intimidated him. It was a concoction of astoundingly old buildings and jarringly modern ones. One of the astoundingly old buildings was Saint Michael’s Church of the True Guardian, which was a giant, intricate, white-fronted building with a massive stone staircase in front of it. Only a few people were still trickling in, as most of London either didn’t care, or was already tucked safely inside.

However, one old woman stood on the steps, in a pine-green lady’s suit, gripping a pearly clutch and making stony-eyed contact with Andrew’s sleek charcoal car.

This woman was actually rather terrifying.

Andrew parked. When asked by Percy if he’d be attending, he simply laughed and said, “Ah… no, I think not. I’ve got no qualms with it, but I think I’d rather go to sleep before tomorrow morning, thank you.” That was fair enough.

The woman on the steps—Percy supposed he should have guessed—was Jason’s grandmother. She had the timeless good looks of Grace genes, along with the imposing factor of well-done old age, and the same bone-shocking integral power of Professor McGonagall. Clawish fingers tapped along her clutch, and when the rest of the Grace (plus Jackson) party had climbed half of the church’s steps to meet her, she didn’t seem to warm in familial acknowledgement.

“Jason,” she said, with a slight head incline, like how one might greet a unfavourite colleague.  
Jason responded, “Ma’am.” He shook the hand that Grandmother Grace extended, seeming all the more at ease for it. Percy pressed his shoulder into Jason’s, because Jason didn’t seem afraid of this woman, and Percy was most certainly beginning to become so.

“And who’s this young man?” Grandmother Grace was undoubtedly referring to Percy, who (when Jason didn’t speak) realised it was up to him to introduce himself.

“I’m Perseus,” he said, and then thought perhaps he should have said Percy, because Perseus was an odd name to most muggles. “Jason’s…” he didn’t know what to say. Friend? Boyfriend? Good ol’ pal that Jason had low-key groped a couple of times? (What if he said ‘friend’ and Jason got offended? What if he said ‘boyfriend’ and Jason thought he was clingy? He continued not to speak.)

He said again, “Jason’s…”

Jason said, “Friend. From school.” Percy hummed in uneasy agreement.

“My,” Grandmother Grace said, “but you don’t sound very English!”

Percy barely heard Jason’s soft curse, and he was standing extremely close. In fact, he thought, beginning to edge away, if he was to play the part of simply being Jason’s school friend (was that what he was, really, then?), then he probably shouldn’t have been standing so close as to hear.

Jason said, “He’s just moved here from Wales.”

Percy thought he saw Grandmother Grace’s nose wrinkle just the tiniest bit, and at first he was confused, but he had to remind himself that she was very old, and very clearly had even older English money.

He didn’t want to say that she was the worst type of person, but, when you came from Percy’s background, it wasn’t exactly difficult to think that.

His mother always said not to be judgmental, but Grandmother Grace’s nose was still scrunched up. Percy tried for a polite smile. Jason had always pulled it off better.

Then Grandmother Grace turned to Beryl.

Beryl Grace said, “Mum.”

Grandmother Grace said, “Miss Grace.”

Beryl’s voice cracked as she tried to reclaim some shreds of her dignity. “Joanna.”

They shook hands. Beryl’s prominent, bubble-gum pink glossed bottom lip visibly trembled.

Jason pressed his palm inconspicuously to Percy’s, fingers locking. Percy gave Jason’s hand a light squeeze; Jason squeezed back.

The silent staring contest between Beryl and Joanna Grace was seemingly over. Jason dropped Percy’s hand like he’d been burned as Joanne looked towards them again.

“Well,” she said, adjusting the collar of her lady’s suit like she hadn’t just shattered her shunned daughter’s hopes. “It’s a bit chilly, isn’t it? I do think we should head inside.”  
They headed into the church.

-

Jason pulled Percy back behind the service elevator, as his grandmother rode up and Beryl listlessly started the journey up the stairs.

“Since we’re late,” Jason started, gripping Percy’s shoulders, “we have to sit in the balcony. Are you gonna be okay?”

Although Percy had never explicitly told Jason about his fear of heights, and felt slightly exposed when Jason asked him this, he eventually reasoned that Jason would’ve had to have been rather thick not to have figured it out. Percy pulled himself out from under Jason’s hands.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’ll be fine.”

Jason scrutinised him. Percy said, “I promise.” He moved to follow Jason up the staircase as the elevator rumbled behind him, beginning its slow ascent.

-

Mass wasn’t anything special. Jason’s grandmother ended up crying. (Jason mouthed, ‘she always does’, although it was hard to imagine Joanna Grace regularly showing any form of a soft emotion without the apocalypse starting or something.) Beryl thumbed through the bulletin, not making eye contact with anybody, her voice sweet and quiet when singing occurred. Jason sat between his grandmother and Percy, forcing Beryl to be on Percy’s other side—not the best of arrangements, truly, but Percy honestly felt so bad for Beryl that he really didn’t mind, just that once.

Percy, during the preaching, busied himself with the large print Bible in the pew basket. It was difficult to stumble through, with all sorts of backtracks and repetitions and redundancies and words he’d never seen before, but he managed to get through part of Corinthians.

“How does this mean anything to you?” He whispered to Jason during a part of the service that was called ‘The Passing of the Peace’. (It basically meant that everyone stood up; the men rspectfully clasped hands and the women daintily kissed each other on the cheeks, regardless of whether they knew each other or not, and said, “peace be with you”. It was all very church-y, Percy decided.)

Jason’s eyes lit up, mischief and affection and pride. “Most of it doesn’t,” he admitted, just as quiet as Percy. “But there are some books that make sense. Like Genesis. It’s basically a giant story.”

The end of The Passing of the Peace was called for from the sanctuary below, and Percy realised that he had been loosely holding Jason’s hand the whole time, and that neither of them had actually greeted anyone else. Percy decided he liked that. He tucked their hands between their knees as they sat back down. He could tell that Jason was discomfited, as Jason’s gaze kept ticking back and forth from the situationally ignorant Joanna to their conjoined hands. But his cheeks were also adorably scarlet, and he didn’t complain.  
For the rest of the sermon, Percy one-handedly read Genesis. Jason was right, it was a massive, sprawling story.

Percy would point to phrases he just couldn’t get, and Jason would mumble Jason-like explanations to him, occasionally getting flicked in the knee by Joanna. Percy didn’t really want to admit it, being in a church and all (although he supposed a church would be the perfect place to admit it, seeing as confession was a thing that occurred), but Jason’s lips pressed that close to his temple or his ear and the sheer volume and timbre of his voice did things to him. He tapped a couple of random phrases, pressing the back of his hidden palm into the length of Jason’s thigh, feeling Jason’s lips press near his hair and thinking: he’s touching me and we’re in a church _this is not what I’m supposed to be thinking about in a church and oh God._ Then he thought, _God. Ha, literally._

Percy didn’t know if he believed in a God or not. He knew he believed he was still thinking about Jason murmuring so close to his ear.

-

Percy felt supercharged. Maybe it was the fact that he’d just been trapped in a taxi (Andrew was off his shift) all the way back to the flat. Maybe it was the memory of the service, or the library, or the night before. Maybe it was the fact that it was almost Christmas morning and he was still awake and Jason was right fucking there in formal wear.

No matter what it was, it was enough to get Percy to drag Jason up the stairs after him and press him into the back of the hallway. By the time they broke apart, Jason was basically panting, which made Percy grin.

“Whoa, whoa,” Jason whispered, because the silence in the rest of the house and the pitch-black darkness of the corridor seemed to call for it, “lights? Privacy? Anything?”  
Percy pulled Jason back by the tie. He managed to bite Jason’s lip before answering, “Fuck that.” He giggled. (For _fuck's sake._ ) “Or you. Either one.” He hooked a couple of fingers over Jason’s collar and wrenched it down. Jason’s pulse skyrocketed under Percy’s lips, his tongue, his teeth.

“Ha. Funny.” Jason was more breathless than he would’ve normally let himself sound.

Percy worked bruises and teethmarks into Jason’s neck, although he couldn’t see to check, because he didn’t know if Jason was his, but if the world believed that, he wasn’t going to argue. Percy thought it had to have hurt, albeit in a substantially good way, but Jason didn’t make any noises of explicit pain. (The noises he was making, though, might have been mildly confusing to an outside listener on that front.)

Percy slipped his fingers between the buttons of Jason’s dress shirt, Jason immediately pushing Percy back and complaining, “Your hands are freezing.”

“All of me’s freezing. I’m basically dead.”

“Attractive.” Jason was laughing. It bubbled up from his diaphragm, from the torso that tightened under Percy’s fingertips as he did, making something in Percy’s chest twinge painfully and pleasantly even more than his stomach was burning. He reached for Jason’s palm, infinitely warm against his. Something in his head, probably his conscience, said ‘slow down, slow down, slow down’, and despite everything, as his courage fizzled down to nothing, he listened.

“Now he wants privacy,” Jason mocked as Percy tugged him into the bedroom, but it was halfhearted. He shucked his tie first, because they both agreed they were nothing more than God damned annoying.

Percy watched Jason unbutton his shirt and slide it off his shoulders, revealing the stark white cotton underneath, both perfunctory and methodical. The unstumbling movements of Jason’s fingers seemed to say to Percy, ‘slow down, slow down, slow down’. When Jason folded the shirt, picking Percy’s up from the crumpled way it had been left on the floor and laid them both neatly over the back of his desk chair, Percy thought he felt himself falling again, like a year ago (was it a year and a half? Two years? Five?) only sped up times a million.

“I feel exposed,” Jason said, standing there in his black boxer briefs and cotton undershirt, something Percy suspected he wouldn’t have said if Percy hadn’t still been wearing a tie.

Percy laughed, and, in solidarity, started to unwind his own labyrinthian tie.

Percy faced a moral dilemma. On the one hand, he would’ve found it very satisfactory to have Jason twisted under him, to be able to hear those hitches of breath and to have Jason beg things of him in the chasms in-between.

On the other, he would’ve found it very satisfactory to curl up beside Jason, leech off his body warmth, and fall into chaste sleep that would lead to a virginal waking that would lead to a significantly less awkward Christmas morning.

Christmas morning. Llaneilian. His mother. Bloody hell, he hadn’t seen Sally in months, not since school had began. He hadn’t even thought to send a letter in more than two weeks. He knew that if Sally had had time, she would’ve sent something to him as quickly as she could. He thought that maybe she already had.

Percy suddenly felt very young. He realised that his hands had frozen on the buttons of his shirt and that Jason’s hand was hovering over his hipbone.

“You alright?” Jason asked. (The London in his voice stole the ‘L’ front he word alright, making it sound more like, ‘you awhryeght?’.) Or, rather, Percy heard him ask. He wasn’t sure if Jason had really asked or not, as his voice seemed oddly unfocused.

He couldn’t… do this. This. He didn’t know what it was, but he couldn’t do it. He knew it wasn’t about Sally, but that was the most unshameful thing his mind could grasp onto, and so he ran with it. He just wanted to sleep. Perhaps he wanted to wake up; he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

Truthfully, Percy answered, “No.” He finished pulling his shirt off. He didn’t wear anything underneath, like Jason did. He shimmied out of his trousers next, leaving him in the grey briefs that left him feeling, how had Jason put it—“exposed”. He would put on a shirt, in a few seconds, if he could. Jason thumbed the bottom hem of his own undershirt, like he was contemplating slipping it over his head. Jason evidently decided not to. Percy felt cold. That was something.

“What do you want to do?” Jason asked. He sounded so in charge, so sure of himself, so leader-like and so Gryffindor. But Percy knew that Jason asked the question to direct their movement to Percy. Percy didn’t blame him. But he didn’t give an answer; instead he just shrugged.

Jason rephrased the question: “Anything you want me to do for you?”

Percy said, “Mm,” and lifted his chin up slightly. It was hard to see Jason in the dimness of the bedroom, but he saw that Jason understood this silent request: Jason’s lips were closed and soft on his, something barely there and still grounding, accompanied by the heel of Jason’s palm on Percy’s back, reining him in—a border, not a cage. Something Percy could escape if he really wanted to. But if he didn’t, if he didn’t want to handle himself, then it gave him structure he could lay back on.

Or, he thought, as he leaned more into Jason and finally having to shift to the tips of his toes, lean forward on.

Although he reached his hands up to rest his palms on Jason’s cheeks, or his jaw, or the space in-between, it never became anything less chaste. It felt more like a promise than a kiss, really: slow down, slow down, slow down. The kiss was just the medium in which it was communicated.

Okay, Percy thought. The only sound was his lips quietly separating from Jason and him sighing a little as he let his calves relax again. Okay. I agree. I promise. Slow down, slow down, slow down.

And not just that day—not just that situation—he thought. Fuck it, he could do whatever he wanted with Jason, if Jason wanted it. Slow down, slow down, slow down. Everything.

Give me a break, the kiss seemed to say. Or perhaps ‘us’. Or perhaps ‘them’. Or perhaps ‘yourself’.

“I don’t expect to have just magically healed you,” Jason said. “But how are you?”

“Iawn.”

“ ‘Very’?”

Percy splayed his fingers on Jason’s cotton-covered chest. “No,” he said, “it means ‘okay’, if you’re talking like a normal person.”

“Am I a normal person?”

Percy thought. He pressed his palm harder against Jason. “No.”

Jason rested his chin on the top of Percy’s head, pulled him closer, closer, ever closer still.

Percy said, “Normal people aren’t this tall.”

Jason responded, “I’m trying to hug you, you shit.” It wasn’t said with anything close to impertinence. Percy settled his face in the life-warm skin of the space between Jason’s shoulder and neck, feeling Jason’s goosebumps light up underneath him.

“What time is it?” Percy asked.

“Tomorrow,” Jason answered.

“Is that bedtime?”

Jason contemplated. “If we’d like to sleep, yes.”

Percy looked over at Jason’s clock. He saw the barest shadow of an hour hand. One something. Not too bad. But he was tired. He decided, “Bedtime.”

There was almost no awkwardness that time in Percy assuming that he would be let into Jason’s bed, which was starting to feel more like his own than the mattress on the floor ever did.

The heat in the flat was on full-blast, at least on this floor. Percy ended up not putting on a shirt, or the sheets, either. Instead, he lay on his back until he decided that just lying next to Jason, untouching, was strange, and so he hiked himself up on one elbow and leaned over Jason to trace his thumb along the lines of Jason’s back through his t shirt. Then Jason lost the t shirt, and Percy continued to trace. Then, since there was no talking to keep him awake,

Percy fell asleep with himself half draped over Jason’s bare shoulder blades.  
Something was different. Good different, Percy thought, because it had come with kisses that felt like promises and passing peace and sprawling stories and tracing patterns on stomachs and backs.

 _Okay_ , Percy thought. _Okay, I agree, I promise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look i tried to make it happy it's not my fault that everything i write descends into a tearful cesspool of angst. Was it happy enough. I tried.


	20. Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helo all im not dead
> 
> look i hate the word snogging as much as the next guy but im british and this story is british so it wouldnt seem right if i didnt use it at least once

Percy lay on his bed in Joanna Grace’s mausoleum—sorry, house—staring up at the ceiling. He felt like shit.

_There are some things,_ he reminded himself, _that should not be taken for granted._

He could think of a million things… his mother, Rachel and Annabeth and Piper being within reach, magic—and the matters that were pressing closer to his mind at that moment: living in a house where he didn’t feel like a stranger, sharing a room with Jason—sharing _anything_ with Jason. He hated it like this. He couldn’t stand it like this.

Needless to say, Percy hated everything about that fucking house.

There were a myriad of issues with the establishment, only the smallest fraction of which could be attributed to the personal faults of Perseus Jackson.

The faults that could be attributed to Percy were that he’d fallen asleep on the way there on Christmas morning, so when Jason shook him awake who-knows-how-much-later, he had no idea where he was, and still didn’t know, as he couldn’t make himself ask. The other fault was that Percy didn’t exactly have a taste for the imposing, Victorian mansion-type of dwelling.

The faults that could be attributed to other things were that the mansion was essentially a museum, with almost everything off limits to touch. There were people—‘assisted living personnel’— _curators_ —everywhere, just doing things. (The cleaning, cooking, laundry. Standing there, looking important and disdainful.) Percy was sure that they were perfectly nice people in their day-to-day lives, but they didn’t exactly display that while on the job.

Another fault was that he was in a guest room (Percy was pretty sure that the guest room was haunted, and not with any sort of Hogwarts-type friendly ghost (/not-so-friendly poltergeist).) The reason that this was so big of a fault was that Jason’s bedroom was on a completely different floor.

The final fault was the rules—God, the _rules_. They were some of the most stifling, ridiculous things that Percy had ever encountered—of that, at least, he was sure.

_The Rules._

_-_

_Rule Number One: No one is to be out of their bedroom after seven o’ clock._

It was almost two AM on December twenty-eighth when Percy made his first and only attempt to get from the guest room where was staying (second floor) to Jason’s room (top floor, also known as the fourth floor).

They hadn’t arranged it or anything, but Percy didn’t think Jason would be wroth to see him, late or otherwise. (He hoped? He was going, anyway.)

He was almost to the staircase on the third floor, almost to the home stretch of the attic, when someone dropped a hand on his shoulder.

He hadn’t even known there were staff (“personnel”) there that late at night. Maybe they were just there because _he_ was there.

“Mister Perseus, where’re—”

“—Kitchen. Wanted—water? Got lost.”

The personnel (“ ”) stared at him. 

He said, “It’s dark.”

The personnel patted him on the back and lead him back to his room. “I’ll fetch you some water, Mister Perseus. Maybe this morning I’ll show you the way to the kitchen.”

Game over.

-

_Rule Number Two: No one is to use the library on the third floor._

That one _had_ been arranged—with a fair bit of vague, incredibly strange-looking sign language, but stifled halfway through.

Apparently, no one was supposed to use the library on the third floor because there was an _incredible_ amount of mold and dust and being in there could score very highly on the list of Worst Experiences in one’s life.

So Percy returned downstairs, warning the ascending Jason (who had apparently never broken a single one of this house’s rules in his life) that it was a no-go.

-

_Rule Number Three:_

Well, there _wasn’t_ really a Rule Number Three. Not that Joanna or any of her curator-personnel had said explicitly.

Jason had made Rule Number Three very clear on Christmas Eve, though: there was to be no affection, none of what they normally did.

Was this what school was going to be like?

Percy had already accustomed himself to the notion that Jason was probably going to completely ignore him as soon as they went back to school. He had also accustomed himself to the notion that Percy himself was probably too afraid to tell anyone that they were a thing. (Were they a “thing”? He hoped they were. He honestly couldn’t tell. And it wasn’t like he was able to _ask_ because they weren’t allowed to be _alone_ and—God, he hated this place.)

Luckily, though, they were leaving the next morning—it would be the second of January, after all, and term started on the third. Even if he couldn’t have Jason, he could at least have his friends back.

A soft knock sounded on the doorframe. “Guess who got past Azkaban’s guards?”

Percy shot to sit up. Jason laughed, even softer than his knock. 

Percy stared. A winding shadow caught his eye in the corridor; he motioned for Jason to shut the door. 

Jason obliged and joined Percy on the bed. And suddenly it was _strange._ Suddenly it was strange because Percy hadn’t been with Jason in a way that wasn’t stifling or uncomfortable or formal for days and he always felt he was being watched and they hadn’t been able to say anything they really thought or touch like they really wanted to or a million other things and Percy felt like maybe none of it was actually ever going to be like that again and maybe that was just a fluke and maybe it—

“—You look like you’re freaking out.” Jason had made this observation while sitting on the edge of the guest room bed, perpendicular to Percy. He was looking at Percy’s face intently.

Percy nodded. He felt like he’d gone back to square one.

“Are you alright?”

Percy shook his head. There were a few seconds of silence.

“Right,” Jason said. “Okay. Well. I’m going to go back to my room, since I can’t stay.” He stood up, making his way to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow? I—yeah. See you then.”

Percy barely managed to make himself get up to catch the hem of Jason’s t-shirt before Jason could open the door. 

“Wait—I don’t know why I can’t get my shit together. I couldn’t”—Percy made frantic gestures—“talk and”—another break—“you’re distracting.”

Jason leaned back against the closed door of the guest room, holding Percy close in a way that was a little awkward for both of them, but Percy wasn’t about to complain. He leaned into Percy’s neck. 

“I mean,” Percy continued; Jason placed a kiss just below his jaw, “I guess I’m normally the less nervous one…? I don’t know. I haven’t talked to you in a while.”

Jason’s voice was muffled: “You talked to me this morning.”

Percy jabbed Jason’s side, only semi-lightly. “You know what I mean.” Jason made a noise of vague consensus as he tugged Percy’s waist forward.

“You’re gonna be able to make it back upstairs?”

Jason shrugged. “S’either that or being caught here tomorrow.”

Percy shrugged. “I mean…”

Jason shrugged.

Percy asked, reaching for Jason’s hand and doing his best to lead him back. “Stay a little?”

Percy thought that if this was the last he ever got of Jason, since they were leaving for school the next day regardless, he might as well make it last.

“It was an adventure,” Jason remarked. Percy sat against the headboard, meaning to make room for Jason to sit as well. Jason, however, didn’t seem to get that, instead laying back with his head in Percy’s lap. Percy wasn’t going to be the one to tell him to move.

“Was it?”

Jason nodded. Upside-down, his smile in the borderline pitch-black looked a little strange. “I meant to get here almost an hour ago, but I had to hide in the bathroom when someone walked past.”

“Which one?”

“Small one. Third floor.”

“That one’s fucking creepy. I appreciate your sacrifice.”

Jason reached up to catch Percy’s hand. It all felt kind of surreal. The six-day gap had felt longer than it really was.

Now would be the perfect time—all of his questions: at least semi-answered. If he wasn’t so tired, he’s ask. If he wasn’t so nervous, he’d ask. If he didn’t want to ruin this when it was very likely the last of it he’d ever get, he’d ask.

But he was, and he _was_ , and it was.

“Hey—” said both of them at the same time, with an almost identical inflection.

Jason said, “You go first.”

“Nah, s’fine.” Percy gestured vaguely for Jason to speak. Jason shrugged. No one was talking, then.

There was an extended period of silence that didn’t feel that extended in Percy’s head.

He then broke it: “When are we leaving tomorrow?”

“Nine-thirty, I think? You’re packed?”

Percy shrugged.

Jason, evidently electing to ignore Percy’s shrug as (Percy guessed) he might have an aneurysm, continued, “And I’ll still be allowed in ‘your’ compartment?”

“That was, like, five years ago.”

“I’m _just checking._ ” The seldom flashes of Jason’s teeth in the darkness told Percy that Jason was grinning.

More silence.

“Also, it was four.”

“What?”  
“Years ago.”

“ _Get off me._ ”

Jason sat up. Percy caught his shoulders. Had he been Jason, he would’ve probably sarcastically repeated the words _get off me,_ but Jason said nothing. Nothing, except for a minute of comfortable silence later, “I came all this way and you haven’t kissed me and I’m kind of offended.”

“You killed your chances with that compartment comment.”

“Right. Can I kiss you, though?”

Before Percy could even form an answer, Jason turned to face him. Percy thought that perhaps he’d never aged past fourteen. He realised he’d been staring for a while, although he could barely see. He nodded. He couldn’t stop thinking about how his lips were probably incredibly chapped. Jason didn’t seem to mind. Jason, in fact, kept reaching for Percy, tugging until Percy was basically on top of him—thighs on either sides of hips, stomachs and chests pressed close, hands tangled in hair.

There was a creak in the hallway, and everything stopped.If it was possible, Percy’s heartbeat sped up even more. The light outside of Percy’s door flickered on for a second—two seconds, three. The creak of the office door across the hall—God knew what the personnel was doing. (Percy guessed it was getting Joanna’s file on Dalmatian puppy number one hundred and two.)

The door swung closed. There was a knife of light slipping under Percy’s door.

Jason had frozen. “Well,” Percy said, “shit.” There was one tentative press of Percy’s lips to Jason’s, one hand slipping out from under the hem of Jason’s shirt, one stumble backward before Jason thawed.

“Shit,” Jason agreed. He adjusted his shirt, evidently needing something to do, although it was all basically useless in front of Percy. “Guess I’m stuck here for a while.”

“Wish I could say I’m disappointed.” Percy laid back, leaving a very conspicuous stretch of mattress between him and the wall.

“Now you’re just being rude.”

Percy cocked his head.

Jason explained, “I need to wait this out. We both know that if I lie down there I am going to one-hundred percent fall asleep.”

“We don’t _know_ that…”

“Perseus.”

Percy shrugged, saying, “Yeah, fine, whatever,” and stretched his arm out across the gap he’d left, closing his eyes. A few long moments later he heard a sigh, and then felt the settle of Jason’s body against his own.

“Hey,” Percy managed through his grin.

“Hey. Promise you’ll wake me up if I go before you. Also… let me know if you hear anything and I miss it.”

“Aye-aye.”

One of Jason’s hands slipped under the hem of Percy’s shirt, resting in the mildly concave bit just below his ribs, soft and casual. It was a subtle sort of claim, but Percy recognised it.

-

Trust Jason to remember it—when Percy woke up—pulling the curtains aside revealed that it was still dark outside—Jason was long gone.

-

The morning of the second of January passed in something akin to a blur. Percy was woken by a personnel member (apparently there was only one on shift that day, so the entire house felt strangely empty, even more so than usual).

Joanna Grace, as had come to be expected, was awake and right spritely by the time anyone else even slogged downstairs, sipping her tea in an affectless-yet-somehow-still-threatening manner. She would not be coming with them to the station. 

Percy was glad of that—he would only have to angle away the (superficial, but notable) bruises on his neck until he could change into his school robes in a King’s Cross toilet.

(Percy had never thought he’d be looking forward to doing anything in a King’s Cross toilet.)

(Also, the marks had been completely worth it.)

Snow was falling outside the Grace mansion, although it hadn’t been forecasted—snow had started falling on Christmas morning and really hadn’t stopped since. Who cared if it wasn’t typical for England? If Joanna Grace wanted a white Christmas, muggle or not, she got one.

Andrew came to pick them up, tipping his hat to the stationary Joanna and good-naturedly damning the strange weather. Despite his complaints, the driving trip, after a few inconspicuous flicks of Andrew’s chromed pen, was not impaired.

They stopped at the London flat, where Beryl Grace got out of the car and Jason’s school trunks were retrieved, as (apparently) Beryl couldn’t sit through even the leaving of one train.

It seemed that everyone had already either gone home from Christmas holiday, or was still away, as the station was practically deserted (by King’s Cross standards). Andrew sent the both of them off at the pillar, and if the station had been empty, platform nine and three-quarters was practically bursting.

Percy scoured the crowd; he couldn’t find Annabeth, Piper, or Rachel anywhere. Jason tugged him back before a very stressed-looking woman could plow him over with her trolley.

“Do you just want to go on?”

“We’re early.”

Jason gave Percy a look that communicated that he really didn’t like the atmosphere. Percy followed him onto the Express.

-

There had been a lot of things that had happened that afternoon and evening, but now, finally, it was quiet. Percy had yet to unpack—not that there _was_ much to unpack—and was instead basking in the first moment of the day in which his head was the only thing spinning.

Everything had been great: Piper, Rachel, and Annabeth had shown up on schedule, holidays were related to one another, and, sure, Percy had fallen asleep against the windowpane when he would’ve preferred Jason, but there were some sacrifices he had to make for a smooth, five-way interaction.

Now, eleven hours (twelve? Thirteen?) later, he was unflatteringly curled on his bed in the dorm, curtains drawn and charms cast, simply mulling.

Term started the next day. His first class was potions. He had it with Jason. He found himself, for the first time, anticipating it in a way that didn’t _hurt_.

Everything felt strange—no, everything felt exactly the same, and that was what was strange. He’d expected it to seem... different. But there was his bed, and the dorm, and the castle, and his friends. Everything was per usual.

Percy didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Just go back to school? He didn’t know if he could do that. Maybe, he thought, if he never brought anything up again, Jason wouldn’t, either, and nothing would ever become of any of it.

He didn’t think he could stand that.

Should he approach Jason about any of it? Perhaps that was too much.

Did it even matter? Percy didn’t think that Jason analysed things quite as much as he did. Just yesterday they’d been snogging and now Percy wasn’t even sure if they’d keep talking.

He correctly reasoned that he couldn’t overthink things if he was unconscious. Although it hurt a little, the nullified _stupefy_ he cast on himself worked alright.

-

“So.” Rachel leaned over their cauldron, decided she had no idea what was going on, shrugged, and leaned back. “You had a good holiday?”

It had been four days since winter holiday, and so far, the feeling that everything should’ve been different but _wasn’t_ , the feeling that nothing had _changed_ , hadn’t left. Jason spoke to Percy on friendly (if impersonal) terms, Percy couldn’t ever get him alone, or be alone, and at that point he was kind of sick of it.

He would slap Jason, maybe, when they talked about it. ( _If_ they ever talked about it.)

(He didn’t think he’d slap Jason.)

Percy studied her expression—nothing out of the ordinary, although that didn’t say much. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or just an arsehole.”

She scrunched her face up into a superior type of grin. “Both.”

Percy took his chance to fix what Rachel didn’t understand: he leaned over the cauldron, immediately recognised what was wrong, and added the correct amount of ash. “Yeah,” he said absently, “it was nice.”

“ ‘ _It was nice_ ’,” Rachel mimicked. “You barely talked on the train. How I am supposed to know what that means?”

Percy looked dup from the cauldron to glare at her. “You’re not.”

“Ah, the old withholding information trick.”

Percy gave a small, frustrated huff of air. “It’s not a trick, I just don’t want to talk about it.”

Silence.

“You alright, Jackson?”

“I’m fucking brilliant.”

Rachel pushed her finger against Percy’s hand, forcing him to stir less violently. “Now is the time,” she said, “when you make me promise not to divine what’s going on with you.”

“Shouldn’t have to make you promise. Stay out of my shit, Rachel.”

Percy, despite his lack of inhibitions when he was angry (and for some reason he suddenly felt very angry), would never have spoken that way to Piper or Annabeth. It wasn’t the words, exactly, but the way he said them—a tone he knew Rachel could hear without taking it personally.

“The concept of personal loyalty,” Rachel mused, “can be taken multiple ways.”

Percy looked up once more to scowl at her; she continued: “I, at this time, will choose my usual favourite option, which is doing what I think is best for you and not what you want me to.”

“Piss off.”

“I will,” Rachel warned, obviously not in regards to pissing off, still in that voice that told Percy she was doing it more for the sound of the words than the meaning, “find out what’s wrong with you, either through magical means or otherwise, and make it my personal mission to completely eviscerate what is causing you to feel this way.”

“You really don’t need to do that.”

Rachel smiled brightly. “I know.” She looked down at their cauldron; the liquid inside was bright violet. “Looks like it’s done.”

Percy shoved his things into his bag. “I did all the work, so you can turn it in.”

Rachel just shrugged. 

-

On his way into the charms classroom, Percy ran into Jason Grace. Literally, pushing Jason back into the doorframe. The stream of students both entering and exiting the room continued beside and around them, unfazed.

Jason said an affectless apology that Percy didn’t really process.

“Hey,” Percy finally got out, “I was thinking that maybe we could—should—”

Jason pointed around Percy’s shoulder. “—Actually, I just came here to drop something off. I kind of have to go.”

The rest of Percy’s sentence died in his throat. “Yeah. Sorry. See you around.”

Percy (he had to repeat this a few times in his head) would _not_ slap Jason.

-

“Y’know, I was offered a prefect position in September.”

The shore of the Black Lake was snowy, all besides the circle that Annabeth had magicked dry.

Percy pulled his knees up to under his chin. Annabeth was the only one of the pair actually studying. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “But I didn’t take it. Cinley O’Dwyer got it.”

“The Cinley who’s moving to America?”

“Very same.”

“So you’re gonna try and get it back.”

“D’you think I should?”

Percy shrugged and reached out his hand to the side. A moment later, a tiny sphere of lake water flew into his palm. He froze it and thawed it a few times before answering. “I think you’d be good at it. I don’t think you’d like it.”

Annabeth scrunched up her nose. “What makes you say that?”

“ _You_ break rules all the time. It’d be an injustice.”

“I think I’ll do it. If just for the bathroom upgrade.”

“What’s so great about the prefect’s bathroom?”

Annabeth flicked her hand violently, and Percy’s tiny water ball exploded in his face. She said, “Doesn’t have any whiny ghosts.”

Percy drew the moisture back onto his palm. “Ah, right.” He threw the ball back into the lake.

-

Percy was going to get Jason alone. He really didn’t care how any of it turned out—alright, well, he _cared_ , but at that moment the only thing on Percy’s mind was the immediate future of just getting to talk to him.

His best chance—the one that he took, the one that worked—came when he went to the library with Annabeth on January eleventh. ( _She_ had asked for help in potions; _he_ couldn’t help feeling a bit smug.)

In the library there was a small clump of Hufflepuff second years, a lone seventh year Slytherin that Percy half-recognised, and… Jason Grace. Right.

Annabeth squinted at the book over which Jason was hunched. “Looks like our potions book,” she muttered. “Go ask if he wants us to study with him.”

Percy knew immediately what would happen if he agreed to that: he would go over and awkwardly ask and Jason would give some bullshit excuse and Annabeth would ask Percy, _What in Merlin’s name is going on with you two?_ and Percy would have to either _explain_ or _lie_ , neither of which seemed like anything even close to a preferable option—if he lied, Annabeth would see through him immediately, demand what he was hiding, he’d have to not tell her and leave, and then he’d be fighting with _two_ of his friends and he only had four (three and a half?). He didn’t even want to think about what would happen if he explained.

So he started to shake his head, morphing it halfway through into a confused shrug. Annabeth rolled her eyes. A second later she had made her way to Jason’s table, pulled up an extra chair so that there were three, and begun to beckon Percy over.

Right.

Percy was just going to try and read.

(Percy found it difficult to read on most occasions; it was made worse by the fact that he was completely freaking out.)

He risked a glance up. Jason was looking at him—half a second—Jason was no longer looking at him. He looked back down.

Jason and Annabeth exchanged some words that ended with Annabeth tapping Percy’s wrist. Jason needed help with one of their short response questions.

Percy motioned for Jason’s parchment. That was the chance.

He wrote a few keywords in the margins, connecting them to underlined words in Jason’s renditions of the questions. In the top corner of the paper he wrote, _What’s going on?_

Handing the paper back, Percy waited patiently for Jason’s reaction. He watched Jason’s eyes: first the flicked over the top of the page and widened. Then they stayed still in the dead-center of the parchment. He wasn’t really reading.

Jason mouthed, “Thanks,”—Percy guessed this was mostly for Annabeth’s benefit—and played his arm inconspicuously around his page as he wrote something. He slid it back to Percy.

_I honestly have no idea. Sorry?_

Percy wasted no time in responding: _Sorry seems good._

“Sorry,” Jason said, library-volume.

Annabeth glanced up. “Mm?”

“I thought I kicked you.” Jason had thought fast.

“Oh. S’fine.” Annabeth looked back down; Jason looked back at Percy, sliding the parchment back across the table.

_Did you mean to ignore me? I’ve been going mad about it._

There were a myriad of things Percy wanted to write after _“I’ve been going mad about it”,_ mainly along the lines of _I miss you._ He refrained.

_No. Can we talk about it? I feel stupid writing it down._

Jason looked genuinely nervous—as if Percy actually wouldn’t want to talk to him. (He supposed that wasn’t exactly a normal thing boys said to each other—“can we talk about it”—hence why Jason seemed anxious, but he didn’t know. Were they even normal? Percy couldn’t tell.)

_Course. When/where?_

Jason’s response took longer than usual. His eyes kept flicking over to Annabeth. _Now. Count to thirty._

Percy did so. At twenty-nine, Jason met his eyes. At thirty, they both stood up. 

“Shit, Beth, just remembered I’ve got to meet Binns for detention.”

Jason stared somewhere at Percy that was definitely at him but not his eyes and said at the same time, “I’ve finished my stuff, so I’m heading back to the tower. See you guys tomorrow.”

Annabeth dismissed Jason without a thought but looked at Percy, scrutinising. “You never told me about that.”

“Yeah. I called him a dead sot.”

Jason, still glancing mildly downward, snorted. He grabbed his bag and headed out of the library, bumping the back of his hand against Percy’s as he passed.

Annabeth, evidently satisfied, waved Percy off a few seconds later. “Just saying, it gets worse if you’re late, but if you skip you can just make it up.”

Percy shrugged. “I probably deserve it. Good luck.”

Annabeth was already back in her book. She made a tiny waving motion as he left.

Percy didn’t notice Jason standing just beside the library door until Jason grabbed his wrist.

“ _Dead sot_?” he whispered.

Percy found himself mostly unable to answer, this silence being almost completely contributed to the fact that Jason was nearly holding his hand. “I don’t know. It was dumb.”

Jason said, quiet and fond, “Shut up.”

For some reason, those words gave Percy the courage to lace their fingers. 

Jason asked, “Where do you want to go?”

Percy shrugged. Jason suggested, “Outside?”

Jason didn’t say it, but it was implied: there would be no one outside at that hour, and there were plenty of walls to go between just in case there _was_ someone outside at that hour. (Mainly: Annabeth Chase.)

“Yeah. Alright.”

There really wasn’t anyone around; Jason didn’t let go of Percy’s hand as they navigated.

-

“So.” Percy could see his breath in the sub-zero air. He and Jason sat on the upper half of the downslope of the hill leading to the greenhouses—secluded enough without requiring ages of effort to get to. It was pitch-black expect for Jason’s _lumos_ and the moon, only a sliver in the sky. “Why’ve you been such a dickbag?”

“Jesus.” Jason exhaled a long smoker’s breath, looking at the mist as it left. “ ’Cause, it’s like, there’s home—which is where we. Happened. I guess—and then there’s _here._ And I got _here_ and I freaked out because I didn’t know if I could”—he made a meshing motion with his hands—“y’know? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Percy shook his head. “No, that makes a lot of sense. I get it. But—”

“—But I want to,” Jason assured him. “I want to try and make it”—he made the meshing motion again. 

Percy couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “Good.” He said, then, quieter, “But we’re not telling anyone.”

Jason looked at him for a long moment. Then he shrugged. “Fine. Yeah. Whatever. Honestly, you could be like, _hey, Jason, let’s go jump from Gryffindor tower,_ and I’d just say sounds cool, let’s go _. Jason, let’s make out on this hill._ Yeah, sure, why not? _Jason, let’s keep doing whatever the hell this is and not tell anyone._ Fine. Yeah. Whatever. _Jason, let’s_ —”

“—Jason.”

“Sorry. I just…” Jason pulled one of his knees up to his chin. He looked over at Percy and stared for a few seconds. “ _You_ are completely red.”

Percy excused immediately, “S’the cold.”

Jason lifted his arm closest to Percy. “Then come here.”

Although Percy doubted it was really the temperature, it was fucking freezing, so he appreciated the contact.

-

“Hey. _Hey_ , Perce.”

Falling asleep in temperatures below zero really, as Percy had just learned, was not good for comfort. He groaned.

“C’mon. Up.” He felt Jason’s hand on his shoulder, Jason’s arm lifting from his own shoulders. “I’ve gotta give you something before we go back.”

Surprisingly, not even that convinced Percy. Waking up just didn’t seem worth when sleep was so soft and warm and the rest of the world was so _not_. He was probably dramatising cold weather too much.

Finally, though, he did sit up, looking at Jason expectantly. Jason dug around in his bag.

Eventually, Jason produced a small transparent ball, smaller than a tennis ball, swirling with pale grey mist.

“You know that shop with the slightly racist imports? The one in covent?”

Percy nodded.

“They had these dream catcher things there, and I got this idea, and you’re probably going to think it’s the stupidest thing but I didn’t want you to think I didn’t get you anything for Christmas and—”

Percy made a _go on_ motion.

“Right. Anyway, it’s like that, but I cast these spells on it— _Sonorus Mnemosynus_ and _Premeva Hemera_. You’ve used those before?”

Percy bit back his smile. “Mmhm.”

“So it fits your senses—hearing and smell, anyway. And color. To fit what you want—subconsciously. But I figured, with your whole sleep-nightmare-thing that it would be good to have that outside of school—like, magic-free. It might be a little faulty, but—”

And then Percy realised what Jason was saying. And he was suddenly quite overwhelmed.

“Fuck,” Percy bit out. He had shot forward to pull Jason into him (or pull himself into Jason?) and a rather shocked Jason was now laughing and hugging him back. “ _Fuck_. You’re so good.”

Percy was on top of Jason on the grassy side of a hill, probably cementing the only evidence that could be used to prove their sneaking out via grass stains, but he really didn’t care. And Jason was laughing under him, so at that moment he really didn’t care about anything but _that_.

-

As soon as Percy tossed it up, the little misty sphere suspended itself, taking in its surroundings and its owner. After a few seconds, sound started to leak through. It was muddy and indistinct at first, then forming itself into breathing, soft conversation, and the heartbeat of a train over tracks. The orb itself glowed pale blue. He still couldn’t stop smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can u spot the cheeky lightning thief reference


	21. Twenty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so in this chapter i play a fun game called "ignoring all the horrible scenarios that can arise when not preparing for sex" and it's one of my favourite games u should play too  
> (magic takes care of everything right)

 

Perseus Jackson woke up the next day with his entire body on fire. It took him a few seconds to realise that, no, his body wasn’t actually burning away before his very eyes, and that, yes, he was just incredibly ill.

He was still incredibly ill after breakfast, which he skipped, sitting alone in the Quidditch stands and waiting for Annabeth to be done practice. He saw the earlier few (way earlier few) of the Gryffindor team make their way to the pitch, and he hoped to God that Jason was there, and that he would see Percy and come up to sit so that Percy could complain.

Jason did.

“God,” Jason said. He sat down next to Percy on the bench. “What happened to you?”

“I don’t _know._ ” Percy leaned into Jason’s side, because no one could see them, really, and, thankfully, Jason didn’t push him away. “I blame your grandmother. Dark magic. Evil bitch.”

Percy didn’t mean to say that. He just thought it, and then it came out of his mouth. Jason laughed, though.

“Why haven’t you gone to the hospital wing?”

“Woke up feeling like shit,” Percy started, forgot what he was saying, stopped, and started again, “Woke up feeling like shit, went back to sleep, missed breakfast—”

“—Noticed that.”

“N’I promised Beth I’d be here when she was done. So here I am.”

“It’s freezing.”

“Is it?”

Jason took Percy’s face in his hands, covering Percy’s mouth when Percy tried to kiss him. (“Ha, no, I’m not getting your germs.”) He pressed his lips to Percy’s forehead. If the air wasn’t freezing to Percy, Jason’s lips definitely were.

“You’re really cold.”

“No, I’m not. You’ve just got a horrid fever.”

“Okay, Mum.”

Percy was only kind of joking, because Jason was currently wrapping his scarf around Percy’s shoulders. Percy tried to pull it off—it practically _burnt_ —but Jason just secured it again. “Come on,” he said. “You’re going back inside, at least.”

Percy wasn’t really sure what was happening when Jason took his hand and pulled him down the stands, but the next thing he knew they were walking across the grounds back to the castle.

One pepperup potion and light scolding later, Percy was feeling significantly less _shit,_ but still significantly _shit,_ sitting on the edge of a hospital bed while Madam Pomfrey explained first, why he probably had this (after holiday, someone had brought in an ultimately harmless but rare Bulgarian strain of influenza to which almost no one was immune), and second, why he should’ve come to her straight away and was to come back to her once after dinner. Percy apologised more times than he could count.

After checking that Jason was clean (he was), she sent them both on their way. Halfway through the door, though, she grabbed the hood of Jason’s robes.

“Wait. Turn around.”

Jason did, looking profusely confused. Pomfrey studied his face, tilting his chin up violently with one hand. She made a disappointed _tsk_ sound.

“Did you know that you have godawful vision, mister Grace?”

Jason blinked a few times. “No?” Pomfrey shook her head. She disappeared into the back room of the infirmary for a minute, came back out, and stuck a pair of thin golden frames onto Jason’s face. They were horrendously small on him.

“A,” Madam Pomfrey said, and waved her wand. “Or B.”

“What?”

“A or B? Which one’s clearer?”

“I don’t know what’s happening, Madam. B?”

“Alright.” She waved her wand again. “A or B.”

“...A.”

“A or B?”

“A.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded succinctly and tapped her wand on the corner of Jason’s frames. They morphed to fit his face in a second—sheer, gold, and rectangular. Jason still hadn’t stopped looking confused.

Then they were dismissed for real.

Upon getting outside of the hospital wing, Jason leaned back against the wall. Percy joined him a second later.

“What just happened?”

“I think you got something to help with your godawful vision.”

“Haha.” Jason pulled his glasses off of his face for a moment and scrutinised them. “Are these gold?”

“Yeah.” Percy guided Jason’s hands to putting the glasses back on. “And they look nice.”

“Wait,” Jason said, and dropped Percy’s hands from his face. “Step back. Farther, farther… damn. I can _see_ your _face_.” 

“You thought that was _normal_? That you couldn’t? Fuck, how can you see the snitch?”

Jason shrugged. He was already heading back the way they’d come. He seemed to not want to be around, for some reason. Maybe he wanted to go see (no pun intended) if he could actually _see_ the snitch then. “Go rest,” he called. “I’m almost late—I’ll be at practice.”

-

“Y’know, the last time I got sick, you slept with me.”

The hill near the greenhouses had become their place—private enough, but it felt public, like they weren’t trying not to be found. They were, though, they definitely were.

Percy didn’t know why the thought of anyone knowing about them and their maybe-thing made him feel a little sick—sicker than he already was. He knew no one—none of his friends, at least; none of the people that really mattered—would be… _pissy_ about it, but he just—he didn’t know. He couldn’t make himself say anything about it. About them.

Not that he’d tried.

“Not really. The last time you were sick you had hypothermia. And I slept next to you. Not with you.”

“Shame.”

The grass around them was dry and the ground underneath them was soft and springish, although the air was still frigid—and Percy felt it, then. Jason’s stomach, through his shirt, was warm against Percy’s cheek.

Jason’s hand stilled from where it had been repeatedly brushing back the bit of hair that absolutely refused to stay behind Percy’s ear. (He really needed to cut his hair again.) “Seriously?”

“Seriously what?”

“Never mind.” Jason’s hand went back to moving while he went on, “I mean, if you want, I can stay in Slytherin tonight, or you could come back to Gryffindor with me.”

“But _Piper_.”

“But _Rachel._ ”

Jason had a point.

“Annabeth Chase,” Percy reasoned, “could be fucking anyone in this entire school. We would have no idea.”

Jason didn’t respond to that. Instead, he enjoined, “Check where Piper and Rachel are going to be tonight. You can try to be in my room before they get back from dinner…? I’ll meet you there, I guess.”

“That could work.” (What were they even doing?) “I’ll do that, then. What’s the password?”

“Tapeworm.”

Percy grimaced. “Makes sense.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”  
“A nuisance. Parents fear it happening to their children. Parasitical. Gryffindor.”

“I think it’s ‘parasitic’. And shut up.”

Percy sat up, leaving Jason to lay down beside-under him. “You shut up.”

“I thought you were over the whole hating me thing.”

“I’m supposed to hate your _group_.” Jason appraised him. Percy grinned, bright and caustic. “You know, unpopular Slytherin, sticking it to the upper class.”

Jason was smiling. “Percy, stop.” He was still lying down, one arm stretched under the back of his head and one of his knees making a lazy A-frame.

“I mean, most of my friends are Gryffindor. Need to step up my game.”

Jason just kept giving Percy that same half-smiling, well-audited look. Percy just kept looking back down at him.

Jason tilted his head. “Got anything else to say?” His voice was quiet.

Percy, as he usually did, said almost exactly what was on his mind, “Yeah; you’re really pretty.”

Jason didn’t respond for a second. Just stared. Then he said, “Your vendetta really lasted.”

“You’re going red.”

“I’m not.”

Percy leaned a little bit forward, putting his face directly over Jason’s and pulling his torso back from where it had previously rested against Jason’s leg. Jason really _was_ a little flushed. “Yeah, you are.”

Jason shifted his hips and torso to the side (first away from Percy, then closer) in a way that made it seem like he was uncomfortable, but his face didn’t really look like it, and he didn’t say anything. He stared at Percy for a healthy amount of time, looking almost confused. Then he sat up (in their current position, Jason sitting up put him in a proximity to Percy that would’ve been profoundly uncomfortable sans history and circumstance) and jabbed his thumb into the knot of his crimson tie, undoing it in one fluid push. He pulled it from his neck and rolled it up neatly, presenting it to Percy. “So I won’t forget later.”

“What?”

“I think maybe the Fat Lady will find you less suspicious if you wear that.”

“Surely everyone knows I’m not in Gryffindor.”

“Rather sure of yourself.”

“I guess.”

“I’ll feel better if you have it.”

Percy tucked the tie into the pocket of his robes.

-

Annabeth announced, “I did it”, as she sat down next to Percy at lunch.

“Did what?” There was a girl a few seats down from Percy, a third year, he thought, who was staring at Annabeth as if she were a hippogriff instead of a Ravenclaw. Annabeth ignored her. Percy shrugged apologetically in her direction.

Annabeth pointed to the shiny prefect badge on her chest. “It.”

Percy motioned clapping, not rudely. “Congrats. Too bad you’ll get fired for sitting here in two minutes.”

Annabeth looked up at the staff table and shrugged. “I really don’t think they’ll notice.”

“Everyone _else_ is noticing.”

“No, the people around you are noticing. Because they’re Slytherins. And Slytherin is weird about shit like this.”

“ _Beth_.”

“And where’s Rachel?”

“Toilet. _Annabeth Chase._ ”

-

Percy tied Jason’s tie like he would his own—hanging over his shoulders like a miniature pinstriped stole—in an alcove only a few metres away from portrait the Fat Lady. He stuffed his actual tie into his pocket and took a few hasty breaths to prepare himself. He was a shitty liar. (Not as shitty as Jason, but shitty.)

He really didn’t have to psych himself out, though, because he had barely waved and said, “Uh, tape—” when the portrait muttered _shouldn’t you be at dinner?_ and swung open. She had barely given him a second glance. For once, Percy was grateful of that. (It was probably the tie. Maybe it had been more useful that Percy had wanted to give it credit.)

The common room itself (after ages of upward climbing) was cosy. Squashy chairs and a giant fireplace. _Everything_ was deep red or subtle gold, like they had to remind themselves what house they were in at all times. And surprisingly dim (or, not surprisingly) considering the inherent brightness of both colour and location. Percy felt as if he were standing inside a blood cell. He made his way to the boys’ dormitory, shut the door behind him, and felt as if he’d completed a much greater victory than he actually had.

Percy faced a myriad of seemingly identical four-poster beds.

He was panicking, but only a little. Mostly, he was admiring the beds. The Slytherin beds had curtains which were, undoubtedly, impressive to Percy, but this just seemed over the top.

Then, whatever emotion that had entailed gave way to panic, and he resumed panicking.

He gave a look over of all the beds. The majority of them were kept in awful condition, some to the point where Percy wasn’t completely convinced that there was a bed there at all. Then there were a few pristine ones, and some in between. Out of the last few, he had no idea which was Jason’s.

He had instinctually looked over the ones with anything out of place on them, made or not, as he’d just assumed Jason wouldn’t leave anything there. He’d want to make it as obvious as possible to Percy which one was his.

So why was it so difficult?

He ran over the beds again. Perfect. Mediocre. Horrifying. Rumpled. Perfect. Perfect with a jumper on it. A very conspicuously placed Gryffindor _seeker’s_ jumper.

Percy’s first thought was _call._ His second thought was _chiwt._ He didn’t know why he sometimes thought in Welsh. It happened most often when he wasn’t paying attention—the majority the time, he didn’t think in words at all.

Just to be completely, one hundred percent sure (and also because he was painfully curious), Percy opened the trunk belonging to what he assumed to be Jason’s bed.

Everything was pretty _ambiguous male Gryffindor._ Except for the Quidditch gloves, which were school-issued. The jumper would have to do.

Percy sat on the edge of Jason’s bed, feeling a little out of place, like he wasn’t allowed to do that if Jason wasn’t _there_ , and considered exploring the entire dorm. He was on the verge of doing just that, in fact, when he heard muffled voices traveling up the winding staircase from the common room. He didn’t think that anyone would’ve come back so soon. How long had he even been there? Was he just supposed to close the curtains on Jason’s bed and hope for the best? Wouldn’t it look awfully suspicious to anyone else if Jason’s was the only four poster with curtains drawn?

Percy half drew the curtains (maybe he was overthinking this) and pressed himself to the foot of the bedframe, hoping to God no one but Jason bothered to look at than bed for more than a few seconds. There were light footsteps on the stair case, progressively louder, and a soft knock on the door before it was pushed open.

There was no rush of people.

There was no sound at all.

Percy didn’t breathe. Maybe there was no one there.

There was the sound of the door clicking shut. There was definitely someone there. Footsteps across the carpet until someone came into Percy’s peripheral vision. Percy was incredibly relieved to find that it was Jason.

“Jay?”

Jason looked over at him. His face broke into a relieved grin. “You made it.” He crossed the room to his bed, opting to lean against the post instead of sit down, rendering him both a littleawkward and endearing.

“Yeah. Didn’t die at all.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“Not even.”

Jason’s eyes fell on his own tie over Percy’s shoulders. Percy had forgotten that he was still wearing it.

“Christ,” Jason said. He swore like a muggle Londoner sometimes, Percy remembered. “Do you _know_ how to tie it?”

“I told you—I haven’t retied mine since first year. I just put it over my neck every day.”

Jason knelt on one knee in front of Percy, reaching up to tie the Gryffindor tie around Percy’s neck.

“I’m just gonna take it off in a few minutes.”

“You need to know how to do this. For the future.”

“We both know I’m not gonna get a job. Also, can I kiss you now? Since I’m cured?”

“Pay attention.”

In a moment or two, Jason was done, and, surprising himself, Percy actually remembered some of it.

Jason sat back to admire his own handiwork. “That looks really strange on you.”

Percy pulled his Slytherin tie from his pocket and looped it around Jason’s shoulders. He excused it with, “Practice.” Jason eyed him but allowed him to do so. He stumbled through the process, creating a knot Jason would not be caught dead out of the tower in, but Jason seemed kind of proud nonetheless.

Jason caught Percy’s hands when Percy was done tying.

Percy complained, “I was gonna pull you into me with that.”

Jason shrugged. “You can do that.”

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Down. S’early. …It’s good to see you, Percy. Really good.”

“You saw me this morning.” He felt like they’d had that conversation before, in a way.

“We’re alone now.”

“We were alone earlier.”

“Not like this.”

“Okay.” Percy moved his hands from Jason’s tie to his shoulders. Jason’s robes were too thick to slip his hands under, which was the most aggravating thing in Percy’s life at that moment. “I _can_ kiss you now, though?”

In response, Jason kissed him. It seemed to quell and ignite something in Percy’s stomach at the same time. He managed to push Jason’s robes off his shoulder without disturbing anything. Jason seemed to get the hint and, laughing against Percy’s lips, did the rest of it himself. Jason motioned like he wanted Percy to get rid of his as well; Percy broke back, obliging.

Jason studied him as Percy slipped his robes off his shoulders and pushed them to the end of the bed. He kept watching as Percy pulled off his jumper.

This was a play in confidence.

Typically, Percy was the one who knew what he was doing when it came to him and Jason opting to take _doing_ over _talking._

Just then, though, he really wasn’t sure what he was doing. He was sitting on the edge of Jason’s bed, probably with only minutes more before they had to hide themselves off, shaking and probably looking completely fucking ruined in a third-way unbuttoned uniform shirt and Jason’s own tie.

He tried to do Jason’s admittedly suave thumb-jab maneuver, but ultimately couldn’t and let Jason do it. Jason didn’t speak during that time. In fact, he looked as lost in both experience and oxygen as Percy felt he must, and that was what let Percy know what was happening—he felt nervous, so he must’ve meant it. He must’ve wanted it.

Jason was still untying, slower than what Percy knew to be unintentional. He finished it himself, and tipped Jason’s chin up with his other hand. “Hey.”

Jason’s responding _hey_ was pressed into Percy’s lips, his next words into Percy’s jaw: “I’m glad you’re here.”

Jason was gradually encroaching into Percy’s space, which wasn’t a problem, or maybe Percy was gradually leaning back and Jason was just following. Regardless, Percy’s back hit Jason’s mattress eventually. He let out a breath with the release of stress in his stomach. Lying down. That was something he knew how to do.

He’d no sooner exhaled than Jason’s teeth skimmed over his jugular, causing a sort of embarrassing breath-choke hybrid and a semi-panicked response of his torso arcing up.

Jason pulled back. “Sorry. Shit. Did that hurt?”

“No. No, I’m fine.” Percy reached up to press his palm to his neck. Jason’s mouth had been so hot, almost painfully so, against his skin, so his own hand felt almost dead cold. His pulse beat back into his palm. Faster than he’d expected. “It’s nice.” Jason still touched him like he was fragile, which kind of annoyed Percy—he mainly just wanted Jason to be under him; he wanted to be the one getting to handle Jason like glass. (He also guessed that working to get Jason there would take a while if he didn’t want to scare Jason off.)

It didn’t actually take as long as Percy had originally thought that it would. It only took as long as other boys to start climbing the stairs up to the dormitory—that commotion caused Jason to first freeze over Percy’s half-dressed body, secondly slip off, thirdly pull closed the curtains, and fourthly proceed to prepare himself for bed like absolutely nothing was happening.

The following ten minutes were horrifying. Not because Percy feared for himself—in actuality, and in that respect, he actually felt quite safe. The curtains were closed, and Jason was just outside. What actually got to him was eavesdropping on the entirety of Gryffindor’s masculine population; Jason’s easy conversation with all of them.

It occurred to Percy how little he spoke to the boys in his own dormitory. He was barely friends with any of them, and he’d lived wit them for almost five years. He knew their names, sure, but he doubted he’d be able to hold any sort of conversation with them—at least not like what Jason was committing. Percy had given up on that years ago.

When the other boys had been satiated—convinced, finally, that Jason’s early disappearance was exhaustion, as he claimed, rather than something worthy of suspicion—Jason slipped back into the curtains, muttering a charm behind him that left them almost immovable. Percy recognised the charm on Jason’s lips, and the pale green mist that soaked into the curtains once it was cast; it was the same one he used to keep his roommates away from his bed in the mornings.

Percy, almost as a reflex, as it was almost always what he cast immediately afterward, cast the sound locking spell. The muted speech of the other Gryffindor boys from outside the curtains fell silent.

Jason surveyed the bed for a while before his eyes finally fell on Percy. They stayed there for a second, then he laughed. “You look terrified.”

“I _am_. That was terrifying.”

“Sorry. They would’ve just opened this if I wasn’t out, and—”

“—and if you’d cast it before—”

“—they would’ve just—”

“—that would be even—”

“—yeah.”

Jason smiled. Percy smiled back. Percy noted that Jason often smiled without teeth, like he was afraid of it.

Percy was pressed against the back of Jason’s bed, like he’d been before Jason had entered, just in case someone _did_ wrench open the curtains during those few minutes of conversation. Jason was sitting a forearm’s length or so away from him, and gradually getting closer. Percy saw his chance in that decreasing distance, so he took it.

Jason laughed into Percy’s shoulder (Percy was busy with his mouth just below Jason’s jaw), mostly in surprise. His back hit the mattress rather violently, cutting the surprised laugh off with an even more surprised inhale as Percy bit down.

Jason pressed his hand into Percy’s chest, forcing him backward. Percy appreciated, for a moment, Jason’s incredibly quick breathing, his completely fucked-up hair, the little bruises forming on his neck.

Jason breathed, more from a deficit of breath than from a surplus of caution, “You have a neck thing.”

“Do I?”

Jason’s laugh was mostly whisper, mostly air. “I think so.”

“Damn. Want me to stop?”

Jason forced Percy back even further as he sat up. He slipped the t-shirt he’d been wearing as part of his pyjamas (Percy greatly preferred it to the stodgy robes and jumper) over his head and laid back down. “Fuck, no.”

Percy bit back a smile against Jason’s collarbone. He pulled away for half a second. “ _Language_.”

“Sure.”

-

Percy typically woke up feeling slightly ill—not like he had the day before, but groggy, head spinning, like the aftereffects of some amount of alcohol unknown to him. It faded after a few minutes of standing, though. A few cracked-rib seconds.

He didn’t wake up like that today.

Percy’s mouth felt like a desert; Jason’s shoulder was jammed up against his lips and his teeth. Jason’s skin tasted like dry sweat. 

Percy’s other arm was trapped beneath Jason’s chest, surely numb by then. One of Jason’s legs crossed over Percy’s, the soft skin of his thigh placed between either of Percy’s own.

It was comfortable, besides his arm; Percy rested his cheek on Jason’s shoulder instead. He tried to free his arm, only experiencing the pins and needles feeling when he started to move. He stopped, through, when his movement triggered a disturbance from Jason—a slight groan and a shifting of his chest—and Percy fell still again.

It was too later, though; he’d woken Jason up. Jason began to move onto his back for a moment before he seemed to realise that doing so would leave him both cold and exposed, so he pulled Percy back close to him. His eyes were still closed, his voice soft and saturated with sleep. “What time is it?”

“Don’t know. S’Sunday. Does it matter?”

When Jason shook his head _no_ , his lips (quite chapped, now that Percy could feel them) passed against Percy’s shoulder. “D’you think people will look for us?”

“Piper’s your problem.”

“Right. Ah…” Jason tucked his face into the pillow to yawn. “We’ll get up sometime.”

“…Not now, right?”

“God, no.” Jason sighed into Percy’s shoulder. “Mm.”

Percy allowed them to waste a couple more mostly-sleeping hours, and probably would’ve allowed them to waste even more, if the soundproof and privacy spells hadn’t begun to wear off. Percy pressed his lips to the nearest part of Jason, which happened to be the back of his hand, and attempted to disentangle himself from Jason’s drowsy body and sit up. Jason didn’t follow.

“I can just leave,” Percy said, and half-yawned into his elbow. “Let you sleep. If you want.”

Jason shook his head. “I’ll be there. Give me a second. Hurts.”

“Your head?”

Jason shook his head again. He curled himself even more into the sheets for a few long seconds, then pushed them back and rolled back as well. He gave an incredible exhale and looked up at Percy. “Morning.”

“Morning, Jason.” Percy’s brain was going a light year an hour, even more so than usual. He couldn’t stop thinking about everything—breaking into the tower, what had happened the night before, Jason sleeping next to him, Jason waking up with him, all of it, really. He placed his palm on the jut of Jason’s hipbone, almost subconsciously. 

At the touch, Jason’s eyes snapped to Percy’s almost immediately. Percy managed to get out “Morning”, again, and then, after a few tries, “Do you want…?” Jason nodded.

Jason seemed a little surprised—his chin tipping a little bit back, a small hitch of his breath—when Percy took him in his hand, although he’d had to have been expecting it. Percy spent the time mainly studying the effects of the previous hours rather than the current unfolding: the purple and red staining bits of Jason’s neck and collarbone, his shoulders and the lower part of his stomach. Percy guessed he really did have a neck thing—mostly a neck thing, anyway. He leaned forward to add to Jason’s shoulders.

When Jason spoke, his voice was a little strained. “Do you _want_ the entire team to see those at practice tonight?” Percy remembered that Gryffindor took night shifts on Saturdays and Sundays.

“Mmhm.” Percy hummed against Jason’s skin as Jason’s hips moved up closer Percy’s hand, partnered with his sharp inhale and extended exhale into Percy’s shoulder. “Tell them it was some pretty Ravenclaw. If they ask.” Percy was a little afraid that if someone saw, they _wouldn’t_ ask. That meant assumptions. (Or they didn’t care—but Percy knew people his own age, even if he didn’t speak to them. They didn’t work like that.)

Jason settled for a few moments. Then he murmured, eyes closed, “What if I tell them it was some pretty Slytherin?”

“Too close,” Percy said.

“You’re kidding? S’spot-on.”

Percy understood the hypocrisy in his tone when he said, “Shut up.”

Jason maneuvered his hand around the mess of sheets that was called his bed, finally finding his wand and casting some cleaning spells under his breath.

-

“I know what was up with you.”

Rachel announced this as she sat down on Percy’s bed two days later and pulled the curtains shut, effectively putting them into complete darkness. Percy had no idea how Rachel had found him there so quickly when they were both supposed to be in Charms, but she had. (There wasn’t even anything wrong—Percy just didn’t want to go to class, even if it was the last one of the day.) Rachel wasted no time in casting _lumos,_ lighting them both up in an interrogation-style fluorescent.

Percy stared. Rachel was tying her hair back like she hadn’t just made a panic-inducing, incredibly cryptic statement. Percy demanded, “What?”

“I know what’s up. I figured it out. Alright, well, I didn’t _figure it out._ I divined it.”

“ ’Course you did.”

“You never made me promise not to. Don’t be pissed.”

“Shouldn’t’ve had to make you promise. You should’ve just left me alone.”

“I mean”—Rachel reached for Percy’s hand in an abnormally tender gesture; Percy instinctually let her take it before remembering that he was angry with her and pulling away—“I don’t _mind_ , it’s not like I _care_ , I just—”

—Percy’s anger gave way to curiosity. “How’d you even do it?”

“Oracle flowers. Only took me a few. My last few, though, damn you. How long has this been going on?”

Percy realised that he really didn’t like Rachel showing up in his bed and demanding to know details of things he really hadn’t wanted her to know. “How long has _what_ been going on?”

“Don’t be thick. You and Grace, you know”—Rachel made a meshing movement with her fingers—“Together.”

“It’s not important—and we’re not _together_.”

Rachel sighed. “Fine, how long have you two been acting like you’re together while pretending that you’re not? Since when?”

Percy glared, but he admitted, “December twenty-third.”

“You remember that oddly quickly for a date that’s ‘not important’.”

“It’s not. It’s just when our—our _thing_ started.”

Rachel’s head quirked. “What thing?”

“God.” Percy fell back. Rachel was scrunched up against his bed frame, and he was laid back, upside down on the mattress. “I don’t _know_.”

“How can you not know?”

Percy shrugged. “Don’t know that, either. Fuck. _Fuck._ I keep meaning to talk to him about it, but it’s not something you can just talk about, y’know?”

“You’re doing it now.”

“ _You’re not Jason_.”

Rachel shrugged. “So, what’s going on?”

Percy studied her expression for a moment to make sure that she wasn’t just being sarcastic and that she actually did care, before saying, “I don’t know. I literally don’t know. I think we’re exclusive? But I’ve never… _been_ with someone before. I don’t know. I mean, we had sex. We had sex! Fuck. We had _sex_. I don’t know!”

Rachel walked her fingers up Percy’s shin. “Sex doesn’t mean you’re dating.”

“But I think we are. I mean, I hope we are. He acts like it—like, without actually saying anything. But that could just be _him_ , you know? That’s how he is.”

“You need to talk about it.”

“But I _can’t._ ”

Rachel eyed Percy like she thought that he was incredibly stupid. “Why?”

“Because what if he doesn’t care?”

Rachel shrugged. “Don’t see what you mean.”

“Like, what if I bring it up and he’s just like, _‘What the fuck, no, we just made out a few times, calm down’_.”

“I highly doubt Jason Grace would say something like that.”

“I was paraphrasing.”

“I can talk to him for you, if you’d like.”

“What— _no._ No.”

“Alright, then you do it.”

“No. I don’t want to fuck anything up.”

Rachel stared at him scrutinisingly until he cast his arm up and said, “Yeah, fine. I’ll hit him up. I’ll be like, hey, so does us fucking mean you’re my boyfriend? What the _fuck_ is going on?”

Rachel shrugged again, aggravatingly unfazed. “Sure.” She backed down against Percy’s bedframe, eventually laying flat. She curled in on her side like a cat.

“I’m staying here tonight,” she announced.

“Fine by me. Other girls won’t think you’re dead?”

“Nah. We’re good.”

Percy suddenly remembered Jason’s promise and sat up so fast Rachel stared at him.

“Actually,” he said, “you’ve got to go.”

She pushed herself up onto her elbows and eyed Percy suspiciously. “Okay?”

Percy felt the need to explain—it was like she was dissecting him with her irises. “Jason, actually,” he mumbled. “He’s gon—”

“—Not wise.”

“I know.” Of course, Rachel hadn’t cared about the breaking of rules or the danger it posed to Jason; her ‘ _not wise_ ’ had explicitly laid out exactly what she thought about it—if people knew Percy was letting other people into clearly marked Slytherin territory, he’d get Hell.

He pulled a knee up to his chest to rest his chin on it. “Just… don’t tell anyone, Rach.” He really couldn’t meet her eyes. “Please.”

“Does Piper know?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think Jason told her. He said he wouldn’t.”

“Okay. So I know. I won’t tell. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why can’t anyone know? Why can’t _Piper_ know? Annabeth?”

Percy shook his head, rubbing his cheek against his knee. “I don’t know. _I don’t know._ I don’t want to fuck everything up. I can’t fuck this up.”

Rachel shook her head, like she didn’t get it. She didn’t ask for clarification. “Okay.” She looked as confused as Percy felt, which was strange, because Rachel didn’t normally let what she was thinking go onto her face. “Okay,” she repeated. “Do you want me to go?”

-

Jason arrived on schedule: Just after Charms would’ve ended, just before dinner would’ve started. Percy had pressed himself into the shadows just beyond the door of the dorm, and Jason’s face broke into relief when he saw that it was him.

Jason sped up his tentative walking to meet him, pressing Percy back into the wall. The wall was rough. Stone, actually; the grain dug into Percy’s back. He didn’t mind so much, though.

Jason’s expression was so alive it was almost dangerous. It was like Percy only ever really saw Jason when they were alone.

Percy caught a breath, palms to Jason’s chest. “Hello to you, too.”

“Sorry. It’s just,” Jason paused, putting his chin on the top of Percy’s head for a second, like a push, almost, and sighing, “lots of things. Happening. All the time.”

“What things?”

“Team offers.”

“You’re fifteen.”

“I _know_. It’s like they thought, ‘ _let’s talk to him early, before anyone else_ ’, but they _all_ did that, so it just doesn’t work. S’me and someone else—Laurie? Hufflepuff. She’s signing with Holyhead, she said.”

“Laurie Seung,” Percy recalled. “She punched me in second year.”

Jason gave Percy a strange look that made him feel the need to explain. “Put my stuff in her locker without realising. Consistently stole her water. On accident.”

Jason stared at him for a few seconds. “Forgot you used to play.”

“I was shit.”

“You were _brilliant._ ”

“Can we not talk about this? What teams?”

Jason thought. “A few swore me to secrecy—like anyone would care—but the Draigs, for one.”

Percy bit back his surprise. “They’re Welsh.”

“Yeah. I was a little confused.”

“Y’know, ‘ _Draigs_ ’ isn’t a word. They tried to enter it as _Y Dreigiau_ , which is the actual plural, but the union wouldn’t take an unanglicised name.”

“That was…?”

“Twelve eighty-four.”

Suddenly Jason seemed to remember—they’d learned about it in History of Magic the year before. (Percy just knew a lot of Welsh Quidditch trivia; it was really the only kind that he bothered remembering.) “Right. Gwynedd. And that bloke. Edward. That’s where you live.”

“Edward? Oh, Gwynedd. Yeah.”

“You say… Do I say it wrong?”

“A little, yeah.”

Percy reached up for the back of Jason’s neck. His wrist scuffed the wall; he cursed.

-

Percy’s heart was still slowing down. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it. Any of it.

That was humans liked, wasn’t it? Sex and death. They’d entertained themselves with it for thousands of years; it wasn’t surprising, or it shouldn’t have been, that Percy was entertained by it as well. Human is human, after all.

A revision: Sex, death, and the Unknown. _Those_ were the things humans liked.

He was being really fucking deep, wasn’t he? Percy suddenly felt a little disgusted with himself, made a sound to express it, and turned over onto his stomach. Jason was still awake beside him.

Percy could hear the endeared smile in Jason’s voice. He sounded tired. “What was that supposed to be?”

Percy remembered talking to Rachel earlier that night—or was it the day before? He couldn’t tell how late it was. Muffled from being pressed into the pillow, his reply was, “General despondency.”

“Talk?”

Percy snorted. “No.”

Jason’s reply took the form of the following silence.

Percy then asked, trying to ask what he had meant to ask and failing, always failing, “Are you gonna sign with the Draigs? They’re—it’d be—” He didn’t finish. He wasn’t even exactly sure what he’d been going to say. He made another noise of general despondency.

Jason answered with his eyes closed. He shook his head, half shrug. “Not yet. Not anyone yet.” More silence.

Percy tried to ask again, and failed again, and instead what came out of his mouth was both very good and very horrendously bad.

“Do you want to stay with me this summer?”

Summer was an incredibly long way away. _Five months_ away. But for those last few days, Percy hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. He was sick of secrets. The secrets couldn’t die in Llaneilian, but they could fucking choke for a while. He’d take Jason to the cliffs.

“ ’Course. Yeah. _Yes_. Percy?”

That was not what he’d wanted to say. He remained silent. He couldn’t ask anything else now, what would that seem like? (What _would_ that seem like?)

Jason reached over to poke the back of Percy’s hand. Fuck it.

“Are we exclusive? Like, a thing. _Exclusive_ is such a horrid word; it’s all lonely and shit. I meant dating. Together. Each other’s, whatever the fucking word is.”

The silence after that was horrifying.

“Sorry? Didn’t get a word of that.”

Fuck it. (Different context, different meaning.) Percy sighed. His face was still buried in his pillow. “You’re my boyfriend, yeah?”

“I was under that impression.”

For a second, Percy really didn’t process what exactly those words meant. Then he got it, and it felt really, really strange. It wasn’t _relief,_ really. It was relief and excitement and a little bit of soul-crushing fear. “Okay.”

“…Wrong impression?”

“ _No._ God, no. Just—” Percy stopped. “No. Right impression.”

Silence. Jason let out a long breath. Percy also let out a long breath. He turned onto his back. A second later, Jason’s hand slipped into his, light and tentative. Percy gave a light squeeze to make sure it was even there at all. 

“Glad I had the right impression.”

“I’m glad it _was_ the right impression.”

Jason squeezed Percy’s hand back, finally. Percy said, “Rachel knows.”

“I know. I saw her in the common room.”

“She’s not going to tell anyone.”

“Mm. …Percy?”

“Neither are we.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall thought this would be an Arousing and Engaging Se(x/ns)ual Scene. haha nope.(congrats to me on not using the words moan or gasp anywhere in this amirite)  
> \---  
> i realise that yall might be like: "but what actually happened? was it just the bit you described?" and to that i say ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ i got no fuckin idea my guy. idk a fuckin thing.


	22. Twenty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as some of you so kindly let me know, there is a welsh quidditch team called the caerphilly catapults. i was aware of this when writing the last chapter, but i thought it was a stupid name and decided not to use it  
> \---  
> also i'm still taking opinions on the next au k thanks bye

_28/5_

Percy and Annabeth were on the shore of the Black Lake, and for once they weren’t studying, which—in a strange twist of events—Percy wasn’t grateful for, as the Ordinary Wizarding Levels were drawing ever-nearer.

“There’s this girl,” Annabeth said.

“Ravenclaw?”

“Mm. And she’s doing _twelve_ of them.”

“What the fuck?”

“Yeah, twelve. Like, I get it. You want to get the best possible results. But you don’t need to do _twelve fucking owls_ , y’know?”

“Definitely. S’ridiculous.”

It being the twenty-eighth, there was eight days up until the first O.W.L. exam—Runes, for which Percy wasn’t even going to bother studying. He couldn’t tell them apart—translated or otherwise. A writing system sans punctuation or spacing? He might as well have been trying to read Sanskrit.

According to Percy’s case study, which included himself, Annabeth, Piper, Jason, and Rachel, wanting to stab yourself in the eye whilst reading was the slight majority opinion. The only two of his friends who didn’t feel like that were Rachel and Jason, and Rachel wouldn’t admit it even if she did.

Despite this, Annabeth managed to do better than most everyone else in the overarching slope of subjects.

Annabeth muttered, “Twelve _fucking_ owls.”

—

_30/5_

Rachel perched herself on the side of Percy’s chair in the common room. He was reading over potions notes, not because he needed to, but so he could feel like he was preparing without actually having to do so. Rachel said, “Jason was here last night.”

Percy was already tired of the conversation. He hoped his sigh showed that. “Yeah, he was.”

“How long has it been. Like, three months?”

“He doesn’t come over every night.”

“I know. Not the point.”

Percy was still short enough that if he scrunched up his knees, he could fit his entire body into the chairs in the common room. He pulled his knees up then and turned to face Rachel instead of being parallel to her. “Then what’s the point?”

“The _point_ is how long has it been? Five months?”

“Four.”

“Sure. Point is, how long are you planning to hide this?”

Percy hadn’t thought about that. No, he had, he definitely had, he just didn’t like to. He didn’t like thinking about a future where he’d _have_ to tell, because the longer he waited the worse it got, but not waiting was worse than all of that.

“I don’t know. Forever.”

“What about when we’re older? After we’re seventeen? What are you going to do then?”

“I don’t know.”

“What if you’re, like, eighty, and still together, and in Jason’s will he’s like, _“I leave everything to my husband, Perseus Jackson”,_ and everyone’s _really fucking confused_ ’cause they had no idea you two were ever even more than friends?”

“I doubt that’ll happen.”

“You doubt you’ll still be together then?”

“No—yes? I don’t _know_. I don’t think about that.”

“You don’t think about anything.”

“Works well enough.”

“For now. When are you telling?”

“I—” it occurred to Percy that Rachel wasn’t going to accept _I don’t know_ or _never._ “—If he doesn’t get sick of me over summer. Then I’ll let them know. Okay?”

Rachel eyed him, trying to find any trick question giveaways in his statement. “Over the summer?”

“He’s staying in Llaneilian.”

“And you don’t think _anyone_ will find that even a _little weird._ ”

“Is it an agreement or not?”

“Yeah, fine.” Rachel reached to shake Percy’s hand, which Percy let her do, grudgingly. She slid off the arm of the chair and took a seat on the hearth, which glowed with greenish-black fire. It was cold in the dungeons, even in late May. “Deal.”

—

_1/6_

Percy flipped around his notebook so Jason could see, although it was hard to with the library being so perpetually dim in the back shelves. “Almost,” he said. “S’Purifying.”

“Damn it—what’s that?”

Jason was referring to a frantic blob of writing at the bottom of Percy’s page. Percy looked at it for a few seconds before shrugging. Half of the time, he couldn’t read his own handwriting.

Jason also studied it before saying, unsure, “There’s the year nineteen eighty-four in here. Like, the George Orwell book?”

“Shit, right. White sage—the page’s on white sage, right? Yeah—anyway—it was banned for non-indigenous healing practitioners in the U.K. in nineteen eighty-four because it was critically endangered. …You can still get it, though.”

“That’s—we don’t even need to _know_ that.”

Percy shrugged.

Jason then seemed to process what Percy had actually said. “Does that mean there are banned herb dealers?” He was almost laughing.

“Oh, yeah. Rachel and I have a stash of white sage at my house. You can get in Knockturn Alley for right cheap.”

Jason was suddenly not laughing. “ _Percy._ ”

“What? It’s from an independent grower—doesn’t hurt the legal market.”

“It’s _banned_.”

“Not illegal-banned. S’not a drug. It’s like trying to ban purification rituals—Shit, they _did_ ban purification rituals.”

“You have illegal plants.”

“I know. I don’t have illegal anything else.”

Jason kept staring at him. “Aurors are going to show up at your house while I’m there.”

“I have sage. I didn’t make a fucking horcrux.”

“I’m dating a criminal.”

“Thank God for present tense.”

Percy put his notebook down on the stretch of carpet between them for Jason’s own use. He laid down on the floor, knees bent with a strange symmetric view of the shelves and plain ceiling above him. He reached for his bag without looking, fetching what he hoped was his assigned reading for Muggle Studies (he hadn’t really cared about it up until that week, when he realised that he was going to have to sit an exam on it that would most likely determine a facet of his occupational future). He opened it to the correct page, stared at the text for a few seconds, and placed the book on his chest, thinking that he’d probably learn more from staring at the ceiling than he would from attempting to read that.

He thought about how he’d agreed to tell everyone about him and Jason at the end of summer. He thought about how much he wished that he hadn’t done that.

Percy heard Jason put down his notebook. Jason asked, “Want to go over anything else?”

“Fuck, no.”

“How do you think you’re going to do?”

“I _know_ that I’m going to do shit on everything—”

“—Except potions.”

“Except potions. Which, because irony is a bitch, I’ll probably still fail. You?”

—

_3/6_

Everyone there was looking at him strangely, like he didn’t belong. Granted, he really didn’t—Percy was a bright green wound on a red backdrop.

Piper smiled at him when he sat down. “Colourblind much?”

Percy smiled back. “Only red-green.”

The rest of Slytherin was on the other side of the pitch, and Percy hoped that since he didn’t normally turn up to Quidditch games, they wouldn’t notice he was on the Gryffindor side.

“Why’re you even here?”

“Last game of the year.”

Piper pointed at the ground—although it really wasn’t the ground, since the two of them were thirty metres up in the air—and said, “Why are you _here_?”

“Rachel wouldn’t come.”

“Mm. Glad you’re here. But you’ll have to come back with me and Jason.”

“Back where?”

“Tower. Always happens after games.”

“I didn’t agree to this.”

“You didn’t,” Piper agreed. “I said you had to.”

Silence. “Do I _have to_ have to?”

“You don’t, really. I would appreciate it. I think Jason would, too.”

For a second, Percy thought that Piper was trying to be funny. He thought that when he looked at her she’d be looking back, waiting for him to laugh, or say something, but she wasn’t. She probably hadn’t even realised what she’d actually said.

—

Gryffindor had won. Percy was now standing in the corner of the Gryffindor common room, rather sure that his friends had forgotten that he didn’t know how to socialise.

He wasn’t sure if it was a party. What the Hell even was a ‘party’?

Piper had disappeared to God-knew-where almost ten minutes ago, and although she half-promised she’d be back, Percy doubted it. Jason had been engaged in a conversation with the Gryffindor team captain for half an hour, looking like he desperately wanted to leave. But Percy couldn’t do anything about it—he didn’t know these people.

So he kept to the corner.

Twenty minutes later, still no Piper, Jason finally made a valiant effort to get to Percy’s corner, for once succeeding. He was holding a Butterbeer that someone had to have pressed into his hand because Percy knew Jason hated it. Jason shot an easy grin at someone who had said something to him and took a sip. There was a rift in his expression.

A second later Percy was holding the bottle. Jason’s _“Want some?”_ probably meant, _“Take this away from me so I don’t have to drink to be nice to people,”_ so Percy accepted.

Trying not to laugh, Percy kept eye contact the entire time he drank. “I don’t get how you don’t like this. It’s the least offensive thing you could possibly put in your body.”

“It’s like carbonated sugar. It’s bloody awful.”

“I mean, you like pumpkin juice, so I think it’s just a matter of good taste.” Percy took another sip.

Percy studied Jason's face and saw Jason elect to ignore what he'd just said. “Do you think, if I kissed you right now, anyone would see?”

Percy choked on his carbonated sugar. After he finished coughing, he managed a hoarse, “Yeah, like, forty people.”

“They wouldn’t _care_ …”

“Not happening. But if we can make it, I’d like to go upstairs with you.”

—

_6/6_

They had one minute to get into partners, since it was kind of impossible to make a potion under a time limit by oneself. Jason and Percy had arranged everything previously—Jason had grades to upkeep, and Percy could do the practical exam in his sleep, anyway.

In fact, he chose, out of the three curriculum choices, to make a sleeping draught, as he had made one before on his own (maybe it was against the rules, but insomnia sucked), and it went for the highest amount of points.

Jason really was trying to help—“Just put your hands in your pockets. Yeah. That’s it.”

Percy had a few seconds before he realised that Snape was watching Jason do absolutely nothing; he grabbed Jason’s hand, put it on the edge of the ladle, and said, “Look, you’re doing something.” Snape wrote something down at his desk. Under his breath, Percy added, _“Beth darn o cachu._ Oily motherfucker. _”_

Jason said, without looking up, “I guess the Welsh wasn’t nice, then.”

“Ha. Wasn’t too bad.”

—

_7/6_

Percy, although he knew the consequences far too well, took the risk of looking around in the exam hall. Jason met his eyes first, giving him a look that told Percy he’d rather be _literally anywhere else._ Percy gave back what he hoped was something commiserating.

When Piper saw that Percy’s head was up, she made a conspicuous gesture that tried very hard to be inconspicuous, flashing four fingers at him. He didn’t know any way to get the answer to her, so he shrugged.

Rachel’s was the only one who gave him any help, redundant or not. When Percy looked at her, she shot her eyes up in a one-thirty direction, causing Percy to look over and see that the auditor was approaching. He looked back down at his own exam.

—

_7/6_

Annabeth was the one to bring up that all of them—herself, Piper, Jason, Rachel, and Percy—would be sitting the Astronomy O.W.L.

That lead to the five of them stretched out on the dry part of the loch’s shore, eight at night, the entirety of the pitch-coloured sky above them. They weren’t supposed to be there.

Annabeth flipped to another page in her notebook. “Anyone want to try all of Jupiter’s moons?”

Piper snorted.

They had been at that for the last hour and a half, it had been duskish outside when they’d started. Percy was sandwiched between Annabeth and Rachel, with Jason on Rachel’s other side and Piper on Annabeth’s.

“Someone define ‘retrograde’.”

“Fuck off.” That was Rachel. A second later—Percy couldn’t really see it in the darkness; he felt it—Rachel standing up from next to him—and heard it—the gravel under Rachel’s shoes and the crumpling of paper. Rachel had grabbed the notebook and thrown it. A panicked noise from Annabeth.

“What the _Hell_ —that better not have landed in the water.”

Percy could imagine Rachel’s shrug. A rapid-fire discussing ended in Rachel being sent to retrieve the notebook.

There was a gravelly plop as Annabeth sat down. She said, “Christ.” Percy heard the distant sound of Rachel narrating what she was doing like she was in a nature documentary. It seemed like everyone else was listening to it, as no one spoke for a while.

Rachel cussed; obviously she was going to take a few minutes. Her narration fell silent as a faint glow came from her general direction. Annabeth and Piper started up a conversation.

Jason reached over the wide space that Rachel had left to brush his hand over the back of Percy’s. Percy looked over, although he couldn’t see Jason at all. Jason tugged softly on his wrist a few seconds later. When Percy didn’t get the message, Jason’s tugging became slightly more insistent.

As inconspicuously as possible, Percy moved across the gap so he pressed close to Jason’s side. Annabeth didn’t notice.

Jason whispered, “Thanks.” He hadn’t let go of Percy’s hand.

Percy’s heart was beating faster than he’d’ve thought possible—the others were _right there_ and he was holding Jason’s hand. It was dark, but still. There were other people there. And he was holding Jason’s _hand_.

He liked it. He really, really liked it.

Suddenly and violently, he longed for his friend to know. Not the middleground, he knew that’d never come easy. He didn’t want to have to tell them. He wished they just knew. That he’d never been so against Jason. That it wouldn’t come as a surprise.

Maybe it wouldn’t.

—

_18/6_

Annabeth stole something bready and eggy off of Percy’s plate. “This,” Percy said, “is consistent rulebreaking.”

Annabeth shrugged. Percy jabbed the Prefect badge over her heart. Annabeth excused, “I came to to talk about results.”

Right. Results. Scores had come in.

Percy had done alright. Better than he’d thought, actually. A lot better.

Fate hadn’t fucked him over—a firm _‘O’_ was stamped next to _Potions_ on his report.

Besides that, he had received three _‘E’_ s. More than he’d been expecting. (He’d expected zero.) Three _‘A’_ s, too. One _‘P’_ and one _‘D’_. The _‘Dreadful’_ was in Runes. As Rachel, sitting next to him, put it, _“Who needs fucking Runes?”_

Annabeth did as had been expected. Straight Os besides an A in Divination. _“I don’t think it counts,”_ she’d said upon viewing the grade, _“it’s not a reliable magic.”_

Rachel had responded, _“Just because you can’t say it again in numbers doesn’t mean it’s not reliable. Some of us just don’t know how to do it right.”_

A tiny paper crane settled itself on the breakfast table, covered in Piper’s erratic handwriting. Rachel was the first to grab and unfold it. “Piper and me can be average together.”

Annabeth muttered, “Piper and I.”

“What?”

“You said _‘Piper and me’_. It’s Piper and I.”

Rachel handed the note to Percy, still talking to Annabeth. “Okay, correction: Piper and me can be average and _fun_ together.”

“Sod off.”

Percy scanned the note as Rachel and Annabeth continued to spit back and forth. Piper’s was a running list of Es and As.

Jason had got seven Os—an E in Potions and Astronomy, and an A in Care of Magical Creatures. (How did someone manage to do that?)

—

_19/6_

There was only two days of the school year left, and classes were out. The morning of June nineteenth, a rented owl dropped a letter on Percy’s spot at the breakfast table. It was a response from his mother. 

The upshot: Yes, of course it was alright for Jason to stay over summer. (‘ _Percy, you know that if any of your friends ever need a place to stay, they can come home._ ’)

Other topics touched upon in Sally’s letter were that she hoped Annabeth enjoyed her holiday abroad, and that Sally hoped that she would visit as often as possible. Percy’s uncle was still alright and still improving. Sally doubted she’d ever have to go down to Aberystwyth for an extended period of time again.

Percy didn’t think he should’ve been relieved at that for the reason he was—not that his uncle was alright, but that he wouldn’t have to leave his mother for a straight nine months ever again. He supposed he wasn’t supposed to miss her as much as he did.

—

_21/6_

The summer was starting off with rain, but Percy didn’t really mind. He hadn’t been home in so long, he had almost missed it. (Not that it didn’t rain a lot in Scotland.) It seemed fitting that the closer the train rumbled to his home, the more rain _tap-tap-tap_ ped against the windowpanes.

It was cramped with five people in one express compartment (everyone took up more space than they used to but Piper, who was still struggling to break the threshold of five feet), but no one seemed to really mind. Percy sat in one corner, with Annabeth on one side of his and Piper across from him, one leg of hers stretched against the wall to rest the heel of her trainer on his knee. Annabeth leaned her back against Percy’s shoulder, her legs bent over Rachel’s lap and a book propped against her thighs. Rachel sat facing forward across like a normal person. Maybe all the contact wasn’t necessary, but none of them mentioned it. Jason was sat with his back against the edge of the compartment door, one leg half-bent, stopping at Piper’s hip, the other fully bent, with his arm propped it and his chin on propped on that wrist. How conglomerate they all were.

They discussed plans for the summer.

Piper would be going on tour with her father again—they were starting in America; they’d visit her grandparents. They’d move to Canada, Mexico, Brazil, back to Britain, Germany, Finland, Sweden, and six spots in Russia alone, where they’d stay for a while. Then it was Italy, Egypt, the Emirates. Australia. Back home again.

Annabeth said, “Take pictures.”

Piper drummed against her thigh. She was wearing what had once been jeans, but they had since been attacked with scissors and stopped a hands and a half above her knee. “Where’re you going, Beth?”

“Italy.” Annabeth bit back a smile. “ _Rome_.”

“Come on tour with me. We’re going to Rome.”

“I don’t think I can just leave on a world tour.”

“Don’t need to. We’ll kidnap you.”

Annabeth laughed, but Piper sounded serious. “Tell me what days you’re there. We can do something.”

Rachel’s summer consisted of going back to Ireland. Nothing special, she’d said, and hadn’t really seemed to care. If she’d wanted too many things happening around her, she would’ve just stayed at school.

Jason said he was going to Wales because of his mum’s new film. He didn’t elaborate. Percy was glad of that. Rachel glared at him; he ignored her.

Annabeth reached up and behind her head to poke Percy’s cheek. She missed, her hand hitting his teeth. She ignored his spluttering. “You?”

Percy said, “I’m going home.”

—

_21/6_

Sally was waiting at King’s Cross with a rental car. Jason spelled his and Percy’s luggage compatible with the car’s incredibly small boot while Percy didn’t pay attention. Sally had been in the pine air-freshener scent of the rental for a few hours, but she still smelled of home.

She and Jason were able to make easy, pleasant conversation with such a low amount of friction that even Percy was surprised. When Sally said something surprisingly snarky, Percy noticed that Jason’s smile was genuine.

In the car, there was conversation about the year (and Sally thanking Jason for taking in her winter-orphaned son) that dissolved into Sally briefing Jason on the board options in Llaneilian. A myriad of guest rooms. The living room, if he wanted. _You can sleep in the bathroom if it makes you more comfortable,_ Sally said.

Jason opted for a guest room. 

“There’s one on my floor,” Percy said. His voice sounded far away, even to him; he hadn’t let himself fall asleep on the train, so he was mostly unconscious just then. “Annabeth stays there. I’ll show you around.”

He wasn’t sure if he was leaning against the seat or Jason. He really didn’t care enough to check.

—

_21/6_

The entire guest room was varying shades of violet, smelling of talcum, all freshly-cleaned sheets and thick carpet and moss-covered windows.

It was only six. The chipped paint on the top of the dresser dug into the denim of Percy’s trousers, the palms of his hands. Jason was unpacking the sparse amount of things he’d brought; he would be subsisting off of weekend clothes, things Sally insisted on him forever-borrowing, and clothing Percy maybe-on-purpose let him keep forever.

Percy announced, “I’m sleeping here tonight.” 

Jason said, “Good. You’re sure it’s alright?”

“I—Yeah. And I don’t—if she did know; if it’s good with you—I don’t think she’d care.”

Jason turned and leaned against the high foot of the bed, crossing him arms. “Right. Okay. So she knows.”

“Will know.”

“Will she let us be alone then?”

“Shit.”

Jason pointed at him. “Exactly. All I’m saying is—”

“—I get it. Yeah. Okay. So no telling my mum.”

“Not for now.”

“Not for now,” Percy agreed. “But… if she does find out, nothing’ll go to shit.”

“Good to know. So, you’re with me tonight.”

“Mmhm.” Percy slid off the dresser. “But we’re going outside first.” He grabbed Jason’s hand in one of his and hit the light switch with his other, pulling Jason down the hallway, then the staircase. They broke out onto the gravelly driveway a minute later.

“There’re so many things I want to show you,” Percy said. He was already leading Jason toward the cliffs.

“I’ve been here before, Perce.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t see half of this stuff. ’Cause I kind of hated you.”

“I keep forgetting about that.”

“That sounded _really_ sarcastic.”

Jason hummed.

It wasn’t hot, or humid, or arid—well, it was a little humid, like the rain didn’t just want to stick around in the form of dew. It hung up in the air as light mist. It was borderline cold, which could’ve been either the fact that the sun was almost setting, the water in the air, or that it only got to be around fourteen degrees there in June. It was just before dusk when they got to the fields.

“I know this bit,” Jason said. He was right; they were in the same fields that had last year brought on the biggest rains of the entire summer.

They got through the fields, it was basically dark aside from the sliver of sun that was still visible in between the incredibly mauve-red sky and the incredibly indigo ocean.

“I can see why you didn’t take me here.”

Percy sat down over the only ledge that was directly over the water, with his legs cast over the edge. Jason sat down next to him.

“I thought you hated heights.”

Percy shrugged. “I guess when it’s over water it doesn’t count. This is the only one I can…” he didn’t finish. Jason pressed his lips to Percy’s temple for just a second. Percy stared at his shoes, thirty feet above the surf. “That was really…” he didn’t finish again.

“Yeah, I know.” Jason’s fingertips skirted around Percy’s knee, his thigh, his wrist. Percy flipped over his palm a second later to allow Jason’s hand in his.

“If I keep touching you, will you get sick of me?”

“All summer?”

“After, too.”

Jason let out a laugh that was more breath than anything else. “Doubt it.”

Percy pulled his hand away, placing it on Jason’s chin to pull Jason’s mouth down to his own. “Good.”

-

It was dark as it could’ve been by the time they got back to the house. Percy’d told Sally they’d be out; the black and silent rooms could attest to her being asleep. 

The sound of the shower sputtering to life was jarring the first time, but quiet, and needed. The bare traces of humidity had stuck to their skin, beading or drying, feeling like grime.

With water dripping onto his shoulders (he really needed to cut his hair again), Percy made his way to Jason’s pseudo-room, closing the door and turning off the light behind him. Faint outside light still made its way through the window.

Although his shoulders were damp, the rest of him was dry, and he got a spot in Jason’s bed without complaint. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there without speaking, Jason laying against him, Percy hearing his own pulse beat back from Jason’s cheek.

“Excuse my stalking,” Jason said. His voice was scratchy, so he couldn’t have talked in a while. (How long had it been?) “But I saw your soap, and now I can finally tell what you smell like.”

Percy had been almost-asleep. He answered, “Congrats.” Percy’s soap (and his mother’s, by extension) was something from a convenience store that advertised itself as ‘authentic Dead Sea-salt’, but was probably a mixture of random base-pH chemicals in an aesthetically pleasing bottle. It was the cheapest kind that didn’t put strange markings on one’s skin.

Jason said, “And I can’t tell anymore if I like how you smell because you smell good or because I like _you_.”

Percy shrugged. “You’ll never know, probably. Also, why?”

“Why what?”

Percy was completely aware that they were having a conversation about soap. It was a conversation about _soap._ He was completely missing the point of it all; easy, tired banter. Easy. Tired. Soap. “You like me.”

“Yeah. ’Course.”

“Why do you want this? Legitimate question. I’m not anything special. And I was a dick to you for _years_.”

Jason was silent. “I don’t know. Why does anyone like anything? I don’t know. I like having you with me. You’re a… very good thing.”

When Jason spoke, his voice moved Percy’s chest like a second voicebox.

“Okay.”

“I don’t know what that means, Percy.”

“Makes sense.”

“Does it?” Jason sounded surprised.

“Not really.”

“Mm.” Jason moved his torso, ending facing the ceiling, head between Percy’s arm and chest. “Hey. I’m here all summer.”

Percy said, “I know,” but he felt it with new gravity. What they’d done—gone out alone, had hours to themselves, slept when they wanted and where they wanted without planning around it—that would be theirs for the following two months. Jason was his for the following two months. He had this for the rest of the summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, next chapter is going to be the llaneilian #aesthetic for the most part, but something kinda Lowkey Sad happens


	23. Twenty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (there's a tiny bit of death, just as a warning)

Annabeth came to visit Llaneilian before she left for Italy. It was June twenty-fifth, and to Percy, it felt like a good way to start the majority of his summer. He had to tell her that Jason was only there because she was, but it went well. Everything felt normal.

She stayed in Percy’s room as usual; She and Percy stayed up for ages after Jason went to sleep.

Percy liked Annabeth. He really, really liked Annabeth. She was in the running for his favourite person. He realised this while having his back pressed to hers in his bed, before she said something that made his heart completely stop.

“So, Piper and I have been talking about this. We’re pretty sure Jason likes boys.”

Then Percy’s heart completely stopped. “I—I don’t know. I don’t think that’s something you can just tell about someone.”

“Isn’t it?”

Percy thought about what she’d just said—both her original statement and reply. _Isn’t it?_ What was that supposed to mean? (And how would he sound if he came off too knowledgable on the subject?) “Are you trying to insinuate something?”

“Nope.”

—

Percy took Jason back to the rain barn to show him the box of white sage. Jason seemed a little horrified, like he’d thought that Percy had been joking when he’d told him about it.

“I’m going to be honest,” he’d said when Percy had first flipped up the lid of the crate to reveal ten or so handfuls worth of sage, “that looks like drugs.”

“It’s not, though.”

“Still illegal.”

Percy shrugged.

Jason closed the crate, and then his eyes. “I have slept next to a box of illegal plants. Jesus.”

—

Percy had been to St. Eilian’s a total of one time, for the funeral of one of the neighbour’s when he was eight. He didn’t remember much of it except for a prismatic stone spire in front of the graveyard and a wood-burnt picture of a skeleton. That funeral was the last time he or his mother had ever spoken to that group of neighbours.

“You like God, right? Want to go see a church?” 

Jason was sitting in Percy’s desk chair. From where Percy was hanging upside-down off his bed, the strange look that Jason gave him was even stranger. “I don’t know?”

“It’s _historical_. And normally empty, I think.”

Jason was on his phone in a second to look it up. Percy wasn’t aware that Llaneilian had mobile service. “According to the Internet, it’s rated a one.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I didn’t even know churches were rated.”

—

Percy discovered that there was a significant amount of things that he had not remembered about St. Eilian’s.

From the outside, the church looked incredibly impressive—old, sea-grey stone, only slightly weathered. Rows and rows of graves out back. What looked like many buildings built together over the years. The grass around the church looked more intoxicated than normal; dark with the fluidity of water, bent over with the weight of it.

“I get that you’re not religious, but how can you not come here _all the time._ It’s so _cool._ ”

“I don’t know—about coming here or its coolness, I guess. Haven’t been in a while.”

Jason sent pictures to Annabeth, but he seemed to want to see more than anything else, so as soon as he was done he tucked his mobile back into his pocket.

Jason’s phone buzzed a minute later with a text from Annabeth: _isn’t that Eilian_

_are you in Llaneilian_

_what’s going on_

Jason elected not to respond.

Percy, as the only one of his friends who didn’t have a mobile, had never really taken the time to think about them before.

“Do you bring that to school?” Percy asked, because he’d never seen it there, but Jason also seemed to know what was going on outside Hogwarts despite receiving very infrequent letters. (Percy stared at him enough in the mornings to know.)

Jason said, still looking at the screen, “Yeah. Why?”

“I thought the magic fucked up the energy.”

“Doesn’t run on muggle energy.”

“Then what’s it run on?”

That time Jason glanced up. “…Magic.”

—

The first of July came in with the rains.

Percy didn’t normally wake up feeling like an old man, but when he did, it was most likely because he’d gone to asleep without clothes on like an idiot.

According to the lilac room’s wall clock, they’d already slept it. (Normally, he didn’t care about that, but he did that day.) He kissed Jason’s collarbone; it rose and fell with his still-sleeping chest.

“Hey, Grace.” Percy brought his lips over the center of the pulse in Jason’s neck. “Wake up.”

Jason made a low, quiet sound from the back of his throat. His heart rate went up as Percy teased at his jugular again. Percy could tell he was awake.

Percy poked Jason’s cheek. “Jason. C’mon.”

Jason’s speech was half-obscured in sleep, but Percy could make out, “Five hours _._ ”

“S’been five.”

Jason rolled away from him. “Check the clock.”

Percy checked the clock. “When did we go to sleep?”

“Six.”

It was ten twenty-one. Percy laid back grandly, with an enormous sigh. “Didn’t think the age would effect you so quickly.”

Jason almost, almost laughed. Percy saw it in his shoulder blades. “Sh.”

Percy placed his hands on his own ribs. “What do you want to do today?”

“Right now? Sleep.”

Percy was normally the one who wanted to sleep longer. “No, like, all of today.”

“I don’t know. Nothing special.”

—

Sally hadn’t known that it was Jason’s birthday, for the second time, until she got home from work. She flicked the back of Percy's head, saying that it someone had _told_ her, she would’ve brought home samples. Jason mostly just found that funny.

—

From the fifth of July to the seventh, Piper stayed while her father was in London (and Manchester, Glasgow, Edinburgh, Swansea, Cardiff, Dublin, and Cork. Piper had memorised the list.)

Piper was a bright spot in the nerveless, tea-stained irregularity that was Llaneilian. She left her mark on the village before she moved on to Scotland, carving it into the flesh of the town and under the rafters of the rain barn. She also left her mark in the form of scorch stains on Percy’s duvet. (The duvet survived.)

Percy hadn’t anticipated, while Piper was there, how difficult it would be to skate around someone again after being so almost-free with it for only a couple of weeks. Sure, there was Sally, but she was at work in the main bit of the village during the days, and didn’t bother them in a way that was _bothering_ in any sense at night.

So, once Piper left, there was a strange sense of freedom that Percy hadn’t been expecting to feel. He realised again that he couldn’t wait until everyone knew. He realised, also, that he hadn’t told Jason about his promise to Rachel.

“I promised Rachel I’d tell once school starts up again.”

They sat next to the surf, but not in it. It was too cold to swim; it was a cold summer overall.

Jason asked, “Tell what?” before he cut himself off because he knew. “Okay. Good. Thank you.”

“What kind of response in that?” The words would’ve sounded biting if Percy hadn’t been almost-laughing.

Jason shrugged and leaned back on his hands. Percy didn’t know how he didn’t shiver; they were both wearing t-shirts, pretending it was warm enough, even though it wasn’t, and there was more wind next to the sea than anywhere else. Percy’s shoulder was pressed into the sand and the legs of Jason’s trousers, his head laid back against Jason’s knee. Jason’s shirt ruffled with just how exposed he was. He didn’t seem to show it.

“I think it’s good,” Jason said. He leaned forward again so his face was over Percy’s. He looked a little perplexed. “You knew I wanted everyone to know.”

“ _Everyone’s_ not gonna know.”

“Just Rachel and Annabeth?”

“Yeah.”

Jason paused for a second, like he was considering. Then he sighed. “Okay. I don’t know why, but sure.”

“Why do you want everyone to know?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Freedom issue? Wouldn’t really change everything. Kinda just want everyone to know you’re mine.”

“Like a possessive staking-of-claim type thing?”

“Shut up. No. Just… you get it.”

Percy nodded. He did. “But I think I have to worry about that more. Every girl I’ve ever met thinks you’re God’s gift to teenage witches.”

“Aren’t I?” Jason’s voice was leaking with sarcasm; making fun of himself, or his reputation, or both.

—

Annabeth called the house at eight AM on the twelfth of July.

“It’s eight-ish there, right?”

“Yep.” Percy pulled himself up onto the counter. “Good math.”

“Google. I just don’t trust it.”

“Happy birthday.”

Annabeth repeated, “Happy birthday. I’m old.”

“Jason’s older, so it’s fine.”

“His birthday’s the first, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I think. What’s Italy like?”

—

It seemed like every one of Percy’s friends had been born in the summer.

It occurred to Percy that summer was actually almost over. It hadn’t felt like it had been that long. He didn’t feel like he’d been alive that long, either, though, and it was the eighteenth of August, which meant that Percy was sixteen. He was basically dead.

Everything went somewhat as usual, even with Jason there. Jason seemed perplexed by the fact that Percy received a dark green wheeled oval from Sally, which brought on a skate conversation that Percy didn’t really think he’d ever have.

“You know how to use a skateboard?”

It occurred to Percy that, since he’d broken his old board two years previous, Jason had probably never heard of his obsession. It all suddenly felt a little elementary. “I mean… yeah. I can show you sometime, if you want.”

Percy wasn’t sure why he’d suggested that. The nearest park was in Bangor, which was forty minutes away by car, and the Jackson clan did not own a car. Sally reminded Percy of this, and Jason’s response was a vague bit of praise to the floo network.

“I mean,” Percy said, afterward, in his bedroom, “we could. But not safely; the fireplace is shit.”

“We’ll build a fire. Just us.”

Percy looked up from the board in his lap; he was sitting at his desk, fucking with one of the kingpins. He just raised one eyebrow, waiting for Jason to realise what he’d said without Percy’s help.

“I mean, it’s not part of the registered network,” Jason said; he had realised. “So it’d technically be illegal, but… I don’t know.” He pulled one of his knees up from where it had been crossed over the other and put his chin on it. “You seemed excited.”

“I was—I am excited. Let’s go.”

Now it was Jason’s turn to look incredulous.

“Not now,” Percy clarified. “I don’t know when.”

They had twelve days. Percy thought it would feel confining, like a limit, and it kind of did. But more so, it felt like a challenge. How much of Jason could he have in twelve days? Probably all of him, if Percy asked. Also, a challenge: in twelve days, Percy would have to tell people things. He didn’t do that very often. He didn’t know if he was up for it. He started to feel like he had to do something, so he went back to fucking with the kingpin.

—

They got the letter just after Sally left for work. A soft, grey rental owl landed patiently on Percy’s windowsill, almost blending in with the overcast dawn sky behind it. Percy woke up to its quiet tapping on his window, casting Jason’s arm off his waist and going to open the window.

Sally had left early that morning to open the shop; too early for Percy to stumble through a letter. He tossed it on his desk, wishing he had something to give the owl for its trouble, and slid the window closed as quietly as he could.

Nothing felt _off,_ which, in retrospect, was incredibly strange. Percy normally felt the undertones of a situation. He would’ve expected himself to realise.

Maybe it was because he was still half-asleep. Jason was even more so, but not fully, as Percy had failed at being silent. Jason had shifted, so when Percy tried to fall back asleep, his back pressed, warm and inattentive, against Percy’s.

Nothing felt off.

—

It was the morning of the twenty-third—late morning by that point—and Jason was in an incredibly affectionate mood. When Percy sat up, still sleep-riddled, but fully intending to stay awake for real that time, Jason followed. He slipped an arm around Percy’s hips, resting his chin on Percy’s shoulder.

His mouth was incredibly close to Percy’s neck, but if Percy pointed that out, he felt like Jason would laugh. He leaned back, though, just enough to close the gap between his shoulder blades and Jason’s chest, snuffing out the draft.

Jason seemed to get it.

“There’s no one here,” Jason reminded Percy softly after a few seconds of Percy’s half-quiet half-suffering.

Percy managed a rigid, “There’s never anyone here.” He suddenly remembered the letter.

“I know.” Jason hooked his thumb under the band of Percy’s pants. The letter could wait.

—

Jason was the first one who read the letter. Percy was mostly unconscious (he’d failed in his only intention), so he relied more on hearing than anything else. He heard Jason cross the room, lean against the desk, and open the letter. Ten seconds. He didn’t hear much after that, besides Jason’s returning footsteps. A second later, he could use touch again.

“What was it about?”

Jason didn’t answer. He just drew Percy incredibly close with one arm. His breathing didn’t seem off, which was reassuring, but then again, nothing had up until then. They were just starting to.

Percy was pretty sure he’d spoken out loud. Maybe Jason hadn’t heard him. Maybe he’d said it in Welsh.

He didn’t ask again.

—

Percy let out a very small, “Oh”, and put the letter back down on his desk.

The letter was from Thalia, addressed to Jason, short and concise.

_Jason,_

_Beryl died in a car accident. She was drunk and rear-ended someone. Joanna wanted Jackson’s address. (I didn’t give it to her.) Do you want to go to her house, stay with me (I’m moving in with Alli), or stay there? She’ll be pissed, but I’ll understand. I love you._

_—Thalia_

“Yeah,” Jason said. “ ‘Oh’.”

Percy couldn’t tell if he was being mocked. He doubted it. “Are you gonna—”

“—No. I don’t—” Jason reached up to catch his fingers in his hair, palms against his temples, and sighed. “I’m not going to go anywhere. I don’t know what I’m doing later. I just—God. Yeah.”

Jason was leaning against the window; rain was kissing the glass behind him, which Percy would have thought would bring down the mood, but didn’t. Percy was standing behind the desk chair, hands splayed over the back of it, completely lost as to what to say or do.

So he didn’t do much.

Jason didn’t seem like he was up to do much of anything, either. Percy really couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Jason, to Percy, didn’t seem like he wanted to talk, and Percy didn’t know what to say that wasn’t stupid or a waste of breath, so they both just remained silent. The rest of the day passed that way. 

Percy really couldn’t tell what he was _thinking_. He wasn’t used to that. Jason didn’t seem _distressed._ Or angry. He seemed more like he was thinking. Which Percy thought was a weird way to seem when one’s mother had just died.

Jason wasn’t mute, by any stretch. He still spoke. He would answer if Percy ever found a question that he found it worth it to ask, in a surprisingly perfunctory, unaffected tone.

Percy had thought Jason would decide how to grieve in the first few hours—first day, at least. But he really didn’t. He still seemed more surprised than anything else by the time he went to sleep, which he did early. He was long out by the time Sally got home at seven thirty.

Percy thought it best to tell her.

—

Jason slept more than much of anything else. He could consistently be found awake during the hours of nine AM to three PM, and then eleven PM to three AM. The rest of the time, it was a bet on whether he’d be awake. Not that Percy knew if he was awake at night or not; Jason hadn’t exactly uninvited Percy from the guest room, but he never left anything open, either.

They received updates, almost on the daily, from Thalia Grace, reporting on Joanna’s thoughts. Joanna would like it if Jason would spend the rest of the summer there, perhaps go to school in London, too. He could live there afterward.

Jason gave a small bit of unprecedented speech. “I think I’d rather live with Andrew.”

It struck Percy a second later a joke. Percy didn’t see how Jason could be joking. He guessed the look he gave Jason communicated that. Jason shrugged.

There were no more future jokes to startle Percy. Jason continued to just sleep a lot.

—

On the twenty-seventh, Jason came into Percy’s room at six-thirty in the morning, looking—because of some bit of science into which Percy did not want to dive— _sleep deprived,_ and asked Percy if that was the day they went to the skate park.

Percy didn’t know what else to do, so, yes, he decided. That was the day they went to the skate park.

They built a fire in the rain barn, clearing away the straw first and covering it in cool, rocky sand from the shore. Percy drew the water from the wood, leaving it in a sad little puddle next to the fire. They only had a small reserve of floo powder at the house; Percy had only taken the smallest amount. Hopefully, it could get them back in time. Hopefully their fire wouldn’t go out while they were gone.

So, at seven in the morning, Percy and Jason appeared in the fireplace of a Bangor public bank, which wasn’t even lit up, and was thankfully closed. It was raining, but neither said anything about it as they trekked out.

Percy skated; Jason watched. They found a fire in the back of a pub and, when no one was around, went home. Their fire hadn’t gone out.

—

Percy wouldn’t lie to himself (he’d done that for a few years and decided it wasn’t his favourite), he was procrastinating going to sleep.

It was August thirtieth, and for the first time in a week, Jason had made it very clear that Percy was welcome with him that night. Percy wasn’t sure if he ever hadn’t been. He wasn’t sure of much anything, really.

Despite his procrastination, and despite Jason having retreated to the room almost two hours before, it was only eight forty when Percy made his way into Jason’s room.

Jason was asleep. Percy felt relieved, and then hated himself for it. He didn’t have to check himself.

It was hard to tell the difference between silence and sleep, though, so Percy perched on the edge of the bed for a second, the door shut behind him, lights off, watching for any disturbance in the rhythmic rise and fall of Jason’s ribs. Nothing new.

Jason was curled on his side, one palm pressed to the mattress like he was subconsciously checking for a pulse. Percy put his hand on Jason’s arm, an experimental tug of Jason’s body closer to his. Jason’s skin was always warm so that Percy thought his own flesh felt dead.

Jason didn’t wake, so Percy relaxed. He pressed Jason’s back to his chest, his own lips to the knot of Jason’s neck.

Percy didn’t notice the livelier pulse of Jason’s chest against the curled backs of his fingers until Jason said, “You made it.”

A strange echo for just then. Percy kissed the jut of Jason’s shoulder blade. “Yeah, I did.”

Jason let out a diver’s breath. He seemed fragile when it was that late.

Silence. It wasn’t awkward, but it hurt.

Percy spoke into Jason’s skin. “What’s wrong with you?”

He realised how awful the words sounded a second after he said them. That wasn’t how he meant it; he was pretty sure his tone didn’t give that off. Jason didn’t seem offended.

Jason shrugged against Percy’s chest, against the arm that Percy had cast over his. “I don’t know.” He made a noise like he was going to say something else, but then just said again, “I don’t know.”

Percy took a few seconds to think about what he was saying. “What are you thinking, then?”

“I don’t—nothing. Everything? I hate this.”

Percy took a few moments to realise that Jason might’ve been crying.

Jason hadn’t cried in front of him. He didn’t know what to do.

Percy eventually forced himself to say, “Hey. Hey, Jason.” After a decent amount of seconds spent tugging on Jason’s shoulder, he got Jason to turn around. Jason was a fairly inconspicuous crier, a quality of which Percy was instantly a little jealous. (Percy wasn’t loud when he cried, but he couldn’t stand the face he made.)

Percy pushed Jason’s arms from his face the best he could. “Hey.”

_“What.”_

Percy didn’t want to say it was okay, because it wasn’t. So, mostly on a whim, he kissed Jason’s cheekbone and said, “ _Dwi—_ I’m sorry.” The person in front of whom Percy had cried the most in his life was his mother, and she had a habit of speaking in Welsh whenever he did. It seemed natural, before he realised that Jason wouldn’t be able to understand.

“What does it feel like?”

It was an incredibly sadistic question. Percy wanted to know so he could fix it; he knew he couldn’t fix it but he wanted to know.

“It doesn’t hurt. I don’t know. I’m just tired. I’m tired.”

_“Gysgu. Mae’n gallai helpu.”_

“I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know.”

Jason’s cheek was wet under Percy’s fingers. “ _Dwi’n dy garu di. Iawn?_ ”

“I don’t know what that _means_ , Percy.”

“You’re not supposed to.”

Percy kept himself awake until after Jason had gone back to sleep.

—

Percy woke at one PM with his cheek pressed incredibly hard into the shoulder of a sleeping Jason Grace. The weather carried on in its plodding drizzle, revealing nothing that had happened the night before.

The last day of summer, already half over, already completely gone.

Percy only actually got up at two. He was pretty sure he’d felt Jason wake up next to him long before then, but neither had expressed the desire to move, so they hadn’t.

It was good to wake up next to Jason again. Percy placed a kiss on Jason’s jaw, and to his surprise, Jason acknowledged it, shifting his body and inclining his head for more. Percy obliged.

The rest of the day passed in almost silence, but it was more comfortable. They packed, which made everything feel incredibly _final_. That was it. After that day, it was back to skirting around every viable edge, only this time Percy would have to _tell_ people.

It was a more-than-melancholy farewell on platform nine and three quarters, but there wasn’t much that any of them could do to diffuse it.

They were the first of their group to get there, which meant, for the time being, they had the compartment to themselves. Percy took his usual corner seat. Wordlessly, Jason took up a spot beside him, leaning into him so slightly that Percy could barely feel the pressure. His heart sped up as people began to enter, but he didn’t push Jason away. If that was how Jason wanted to do it, then so be it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry she had to go i had to stick with that lowkey canon


	24. Twenty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's taken me nine years to update because life kinda sucks again (although some things have gotten better, others have stayed awful or gotten much worse)  
> i'm here now tho  
> \---  
> ALSO ANOTHER REASON I TOOK SO LONG (i'm so excited) so i know i'm supposed to be working on southern gothic highschool au and I AM but also i've finally gotten out a bit of a draft for greek au that i actually LIKE so i think after highschool au i'm gonna do greek. scifi coding one after that. (i'll probably be dead by then tbh.)

It was almost like Jason was diffused by people.

Percy really didn’t understand that—being around other people did the opposite for him. But despite how impossible Percy might have found it, Jason still seemed to relax against him as people loaded onto the express. Percy guessed it was good to be back in the routine. Good to do something they both knew how to do. (Well, Jason knew how to do it. Percy got along.)

Piper was the first one Percy saw. She was making her way down the center of the car, words tossed over her shoulder along with her glance; she wasn’t alone.

There was an entire nonverbal conversation that began with Percy’s involuntary flinch (it sprung because he had seen Piper and felt Jason and that at the same time sent his brain into a panic), signaling for Jason to sit forward and give Percy a look that was more concerned than annoyed but still, Percy felt, unknowingly accusatory.

They were still exchanging looks when Piper slid open the door. Percy’s look said, without him attempting to curate it, _I’m sorry, please keep your distance._ Jason’s look was the equivalent of a sigh.

True to behaviour, Annabeth and Rachel were in the compartment a few seconds later. Annabeth, probably because she didn’t think it possible that Percy would’ve thought about sitting next to Jason before sitting next to her—with good reason—took the seat next to Jason and gave Percy and unapologetically venomous look. It wasn’t that she disliked Jason, it was that she’d just been shunted.

The natural conversation seemed to be _summer_. So they talked about summer—or, the girls did. Jason and Percy kept rather quiet, but no one pressed. Percy could tell that the thought of Beryl Grace was hanging over all three of the girls’ heads, making them tentative of asking anything of Jason. Percy would’ve said, a few days previous, that the person he thought was least affected by the death would’ve been Jason himself. Did it count as being affected if you were only affected by the striking realisation that you weren’t affected enough?

A quick look at Jason told Percy that he was picking up on the same things.

Conversation of the holiday died away faster than Percy had anticipated, leaving what was not an empty silence, but a quiet instead inhabited by the easy soundlessness of companionship and the thrumming of the train.

Jason’s head dropped onto Percy’s shoulder.

Percy knew it was on purpose. _He knew it was on purpose._ But he couldn’t _say_ anything. He wasn’t even allowed to be wroth with Jason, since he was supposed to have told everyone—had Jason had it his way, everyone would’ve already known.

Percy didn’t tell everyone. Instead, he had another nonverbal conversation, that time with Rachel from across the seat. Her look said, _If you don’t tell everyone soon, I will._ Percy’s response was, _Please, no._ Rachel’s next look spelled out clearly: _you promised._

Percy knew he promised. He knew it. He would tell them before the day was over, he resolved, so they would know the entire year.

Piper had been studying Jason’s half-sleeping form. “He looks really peaceful. Percy,” she said, “you always kind of look like you want to kill someone.”

Percy shrugged with one shoulder. He was still thinking. Telling them before the day was out would be a slight issue, as the express didn’t get to school until seven-ish, where he wouldn’t see much of anyone but Rachel until the next morning. He didn’t want to tell everyone in an enclosed space like where he was just then, nor did he want to blurt it out as he exited the train or a carriage. _(“Oh, by the way, Jason and I have been together for over six months!”)_

Fuck. He and Jason had been together for over six months. They’d been some sort of more-than-friends, he realised next, for almost ten. That was almost a _year_. _Fuck_.

Percy then rationalised that he shouldn’t get ahead of himself: Christmas wasn’t for another few months. It wouldn’t have been a year until Christmas.

Not that Percy didn’t like the idea of an entire year. It was just alarming to realise. (And what kind of idiot did that make Jason?) Almost an entire _year_. He hoped he’d hidden it well.

Back to contemplating when was the least painful instant to tell his _friends_ that he’d been hiding that one of their _other friends_ was _his boyfriend_ for almost an entire year.

God, he missed that summer. Everything had been so easy. Up until the last bit.

It was almost one o’ clock. Jason stirred against Percy’s shoulder. Percy had to restrain himself from tipping Jason’s chin up; even if their friends had known about them, it would’ve been gratuitous. So he watched Jason intently from his peripherals instead.

Jason sat up and half-yawned into the back of his hand, mouth barely open. Sometimes it struck Percy how _pretty_ he was.

_Maybe kissing him right now would be alright. Maybe I could just kiss him to show them without having to talk to them._ Percy remembered he’d kind of blown that chance back when Jason had been leaning against him. Jason would never let him live that one down. Did Percy care? _I could just take his hand. Right now. I could._

He could. It surprised him how much he wanted to.

Percy tried to start his declaration with _Jason,_ but all that came out was a choked-sounding _“J—”_ before his vocal chords froze.

Everyone in the compartment looked at him for a few seconds, and when he didn’t say anything, Annabeth mocked his syllable before losing interest.

Jason tapped the back of Percy’s hand, soft and discreet. He then tapped his own chest, as if to ask if Percy had been trying to talk about him. Percy nodded.

Jason’s voice was even less noticeable than his tap. “Should I…?”

“No. I’ll just… I want to.”

Jason shrugged and settled back into the seat. His arm pressed against Percy’s. There was still a long way to go to the castle.

Percy kind of felt like he wanted to hide; Jason’s shoulder was right there, but he couldn’t do that until he’d done _that_. He sighed tremendously. Rachel eyed him. He bit out a quiet, “Shut up.”

—

It was four o’ clock, and Jason wasn’t rushing him, which made Percy think that Jason was _annoyed_. That was completely irrational, really, but he couldn’t help thinking it.

Rachel had, since Percy’s last attempt at around one, made a habit of every so often staring into his soul to let him know that even if Jason didn’t seem to be counting the minutes, she most certainly was. Rachel would be pissed at him for days, even weeks, if he backed out of his promise.

He wanted the endgame, but he really, _really_ didn’t want to play. He wasn’t even sure why. He pressed his shoulder against Jason's, hoping he’d accidentally get Jason’s attention. He, along with his rapidly drying throat, was starting to really like the hand idea. (Or, had Percy been a braver person, the kiss idea. But he wasn’t. So that was basically out.)

He had to press harder to get Jason’s attention. Jason glanced up at him, and the clear path between his mouth and Jason’s made the “ _kiss_ ” option suddenly seem a lot more doable. He ducked his gaze.

Jason tapped the back of Percy’s hand lightly, a gesture that Percy knew to mean, _What’s wrong?_ but he didn’t know how to answer without speaking. So he pushed himself farther into the corner of the compartment, laid his head against the window, and tried to pretend that he wasn’t there. It didn’t work very well, though, as he could feel Rachel glaring at him. He should have never promised her anything. Why did he do that, anyway? _She_ wasn’t the one who was supposed to tell him what to do with his life—or his _boyfriend_ , for fuck’s sake.

Percy knew it was because Jason wanted it. That was really why he’d promised so rashly, wasn’t it? To get Rachel off his back, he knew; but it was, he suspected, because Jason wanted people to know.

The express rumbled under a tunnel, casting the compartment into darkness. For a second, just a second and maybe less, Percy felt the weight of Jason’s hand on his thigh. He suddenly didn’t feel like doing anything. He wished they’d never left that summer.

Percy immediately felt bad for thinking that. Of course he didn’t really think so; he didn’t want to stay in a time loop without Annabeth, Piper, and Rachel forever. What he really missed was the simplicity of it. The implicit understanding, where everything was unspoken. Jason pressed against him at night. The rain. Not having to try and guess what Jason was thinking, or when he was going to break next, because his mother had died and he was acting really _strange_ about it and Percy didn’t _understand_ and _God damn it._

He didn’t know how close they were to the school. He also knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, but he had to try, if only so he could stop feeling the judgment radiating from off of Rachel from across the compartment.

—

Percy knew he was making it worse by not speaking. He knew that the longer he didn’t say anything, he made it harder for himself to say something when he actually needed to.

But he couldn’t make himself _talk._

At one point he did fall asleep—a mercy—for a little over an hour, and when he woke up, the train was only a few minutes from the castle. Rachel’s glare was ever-lasting, and ever more persistent. Percy did his best to block it out. So what if she was pissed at him? _He didn’t have to listen to her._ That was the point. Yeah, sure, he’d promised, but that wasn’t something about which he should’ve had to promise.

Whatever. _Whatever_. Percy pressed his cheek harder into the pane of the window. He felt the vibrations of the train in his cheek.

—

Percy dreaded sitting next to Rachel at the start-of-term feast. At first, when she sat down next to him, just before the sorting, she didn’t speak. When McGonagallstarted to rattle off the list of first-years, however, Rachel jabbed him in the side and whispered, “You didn’t say anything.”

Percy didn’t answer.

“You didn’t _say_ anything.”

A Ravenclaw girl shot them a dirty look from the next table. Percy didn’t even look at her. Maybe if he didn’t offer her any attention, she would just leave him alone; he knew that wouldn’t work. He was willing to try.

“ _Perseus Jackson_.”

“Rachel, shut up.”

Someone from across the table kicked Percy’s shin, not lightly. He wanted to tell him that _he_ was on the good side here, but he couldn’t, so he hunched his shoulders and made up his mind to completely ignore Rachel.

—

Percy, due to Rachel’s hounding (and eventual cold-shoulder dripping with distaste) retired early to the boy’s dormitory, not bothering to unpack and just laying face down and spread eagle on his bed. He really was an idiot.

He was asleep by the time the other boys came upstairs, surprisingly dreamless. He was asleep, at least, until Jason shook his shoulder, weighing down the edge of his bed. Percy almost, _almost_ made an incredibly loud noise of surprise before he realised it was Jason. Jason had thought ahead, anyway, uttering the spell that shut and soundproofed the curtains.

“You know,” Percy said. He sat up and leaned against the headboard, rubbing the heel of his hand against his eye. “That was really creepy.”

“Was it?”

“Yeah. You didn’t tell me you’d be here.”

“I can leave.”

Percy rolled his eyes. “Obviously now that you’re _here_ , I…” Percy stopped, sighed, and pulled his knees up to his chin.

Jason mimicked his action in what struck Percy as a strangely Percy-like way to do so. Percy was also pretty sure that Jason didn’t notice he’d done it. “You alright?”

Percy shrugged. “I didn’t say anything. I’m sorry.”

Jason shrugged in the way where one cocks their head and dons a mildly distasteful expression. “I wanted you to do it because you said you would—actually, that’s a lie—kind of? I want you to tell them, end of. But I don’t—I don’t want to _make_ you do it. I don’t want to make you do anything.”

“So…”

“So I’m not going to be angry or anything. If you don’t say something.”

Percy tucked his face further into his knees. “Alright.”

Jason watched him for a while. Percy didn’t watch back, because he was incredibly tired and his eyes were subsequently closed. Jason moved into the spot next to Percy on the mattress, resting his arm across the top of the headboard. Percy fell into him silently, drawing a laugh from Jason and his hand down from the bed frame.

Percy spoke into the side of Jason’s chest. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Jason let out a huff of breath that symbolised a question without actually being one. “Haven’t really been with you all day.”

_Make that all week._ Percy didn’t say anything. He brought Jason closer with his other hand on Jason’s hip instead. Jason smelled familiar, less like Llaneilian and more like his own flat; he’d showered before he’d come up.

Jason’s chin rested on Percy’s scalp. “I missed you.”

“Okay.” Percy heard his own question play back in his head: _What’s wrong with you?_ He wanted to ask it again and again until he got a solid answer.

“Hey. Look at me.” Jason tipped up Percy’s chin.

Something other than _‘nothing’,_ or _‘I don’t know’._ Something substantial. They could work with that, at least.

Jason said, “You’re thinking too loud.”

Percy glared for a second. Then he sighed. “Yeah.” He was pretty sure Jason had said something like that before.

He _was_ thinking too loud. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to think at all. He lifted his head to rest his chin on Jason’s shoulder. He didn’t really want to talk, so he brought his lips across Jason’s jaw in the hopes he’d get the message. 

Jason did; a little too well.

“I thought you were tired.” Jason bit the words into Percy’s collarbone as Percy pushed Jason’s hand off his shoulder; he didn’t like the confinement. Jason’s other hand was partially pressed to Percy’s chest, with his fingertips wrenching down the collar of Percy’s t shirt.

“When did I say that?”

Jason brought back his mouth, leaving a glimpse of pink-turning-red beneath it. “It was implied.” It didn’t seem like Jason was going to move back anytime soon; cold air rushed against Percy’s neck.

“Yeah, okay.” Percy grabbed the back of his collar and slipped his shirt over his head. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten to sitting in-front-of-on-top-of Jason, but he was there. Jason surveyed Percy’s newly uncovered upper body for a few seconds, with a look that, had Jason not been Jason, would’ve made Percy incredibly uncomfortable.

Jason’s eyes fell on the upper hook of Percy’s hipbone. “That’s new,” he remarked.

A greenish-yellow bruise spread there, about a palm in diameter.

Percy shrugged. “Not really,” he said. “Got it Thursday. Ran into the table like an idiot.”

Jason rested his palm over the bruise, covering it neatly. He suddenly didn’t meet Percy’s eyes. It was implied to both of them, Percy realised, that Jason did not know, because Jason had not seen.

All at once, Percy felt angry at Jason again. And then he felt like shit. It was actually really incredible, how shitty he felt.

From his stance in-front-of-on-top-of Jason, Percy was taller, which he both coveted and cherished. Without verbal explanation, he pulled Jason’s chest forward into his, resting his chin on the top of Jason’s head. Jason’s hair was damp.

It occurred to Percy that one, he still felt shitty, but in a dull, aching, he-could-tell-it-wouldn’t-get-better-soon way, instead of a feeling-like-he-was-being-stabbed-in-the-gut way.

Two, he had had Jason (or Jason had had him?) for the better part of a year. And he wasn’t tired of it. And he doubted he ever would be.

Percy supposed that for some that would’ve been a startling realisation, but it didn’t feel that way for him. He loved Jason. He knew that. Although he’d never thought that sentence in-depth before, it wasn’t strange to think just then.

Alright, maybe it was a little strange, once it caught up to him, but only in a good, heart-racing, addictive kind of way. _I love Jason. I love Jason. I love Jason._ Once he recognised it, he couldn’t stop thinking it. He’d said it before, but it wasn’t like Jason had understood, or responded. Percy hadn’t even really caught it as it had fallen out of his mouth.

But he knew it was true, and that it must’ve been for a long time. Percy felt as sure of loving Jason as he did of loving Annabeth, or Piper, or Rachel. And then there was something on top of that. _This_ , he supposed. This: being curled against Jason on his bed, skin on skin, sheets and hair and vision mussed, pulling Jason into his chest. Yeah, that.

Percy let Jason go—partially—and slid down. He breathed into Jason’s shoulder, sounding quite shuddery, and wondered why it sounded like that. His answer came in the fact that he had been holding his breath for a notably long time.

“Percy?” Jason sounded concerned. His arm tightening above Percy’s hips.

“I love you.” Percy said the words without thinking about them, which was how he said all important words, so they came out more like, _Elufyu._

“What?”

Jason’s voice had cracked. Percy snorted.

“You’re not supposed to say ‘ _what_ ’ when someone tells you they love you.”

“What?”

It occurred to Percy that Jason might have been more uncomfortable than confused. He suddenly felt a little ill.

“I—” and then he stopped. “Sorry?”

Jason got his footing. It took his almost twenty seconds, but he said, “I don’t think you’re supposed to say ‘ _sorry_ ’ after someone says ‘ _what_ ’ after you tell them you love them.”

Not uncomfortable. Just confused. Percy could breathe again.

“What is ‘what’ supposed to mean?”

“What is _sorry_ supposed to mean?”

“I thought I scared you.”

“No! I—” and then he stopped. “Surprised. You surprised me.”

“Oh. Okay. I—okay. Thoughts?” 

Jason stared for a moment, like he thought Percy was a little ridiculous, which he probably did, before saying, “Yeah. I love you, too, Percy. Thought that’d been clear for a while now.”

That would’ve stung, had Jason not been smiling like an idiot.

—

“The fuck are those?” Annabeth sat down at the Slytherin bench next to Percy as he choked on his toast. She had a permanent spot by then; people just didn’t bother sitting there. “Did someone punch you?”

Percy didn’t answer, because he was still choking on his toast. He hitched up the collar of his shirt, pushing the bunch of robe fabric on his shoulder up to cover his neck.

Annabeth pulled it down again. “No, let me see. What _is_ this?”

Rachel stopped silently laughing and spoke for the first time since Annabeth had sat down. “You _know_ what it is.”

“Well, yeah, but who?”

Percy shrugged. He attempted to consume more toast.

“No, you’ve got to tell me.”

Percy remained silent.

“ _Percy_.”

“They’re from Jason.”

“Tell him to stop making it look like he punched you in the fucking neck.”

“Oh, let off, Beth”—Rachel—“It doesn’t look like he got punched. Repeatedly _pinched_ , I say. Bitten, maybe.”

Percy wasn’t sure if Annabeth had heard him correctly. He wondered if she thought he was joking. He also wondered whether Jason had marked him there on purpose. He’d have to bring that up.

Percy meant to clarify, or to at least _ask_ , but it had gone over _so painlessly_ that he just didn’t say anything.

Maybe she’d already known. Fuck. What if she’d already known? Percy didn’t think he was obvious, but Annabeth wasn’t stupid. Obviously. Anything but. She’d probably already known. God, Percy felt like an idiot.

—

Annabeth, actually, on the pair’s way to Herbology two hours later, when they were finally alone, said, “Congratulations, by the way.”

“What?”

“On getting the boy you’ve fancied for, like, four years to neck you. A feat, truly.”

She hadn’t known.

“Oh. Yeah.” Percy reached up to re-cover the marks. “Congratulations to me, I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess what's happening soon (ok like in a month but still)  
> my birthday  
> i'm gonna be fourteen  
> i can get a facebook  
> i'm just kidding i don't want a facebook  
> \---  
> also someone emailed me about my race b/c i guess i made it confusing but here goes:  
> -my dad is black and cheyenne, and was adopted by lebanese-muslim parents in america  
> -my mum's entire family is vv greek, but her parents migrated to wales  
> -then my dad went to college in cardiff and met my mum and then they had me  
> -so i'm: 1/2 greek, 1/4 black, 1/4 cheyenne, and raised in a greek-lebanese (muslim)-welsh diaspora household, hence why i speak english, welsh, and greek, as well as rly super shitty arabic  
> that's it! hope that clears everything up


	25. Twenty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some things:  
> -i posted the first chapter of highschool au. s'called cypress to selmer. i'll pick it up when i finish this monstrosity.  
> -if i were to post my original work somewhere, where would y'all, if you were to read it, want me to post it? (not wattpad pls thanks)

Annabeth Chase was _incredibly_ academically intelligent.

Academic intelligence was very useful for a number of things, most of which applied to Annabeth’s most commonly partook-in activities, meaning she used it fairly often.

For the most part, Annabeth did not need social intelligence.

Which was brilliant, as she didn’t have very much of it.

For instance, she still didn’t understand that Jason Grace was Percy Jackson’s boyfriend.

She sat next to Percy in a Ravenclaw-Slytherin potions class halfway through September and asked, “So, are you gonna talk to him about it?”

Percy had felt confused and looked incredulous. “What?”

“Are you going to talk to him about it?”

“Talk to _who_ about _what_?”

She made a frantic hand gesture and quieted her voice. “You know. Jason. You two. Copping off.”

Percy stared for a few seconds. “What? Oh, I—”

Rachel inserted herself into the situation. “—I think I’ve just curdled my draft, so—”

Percy’s attention was immediately both diverted and scattered. He sighed, cutting her off, and brought his and Annabeth’s cauldron over to Rachel’s desk. “Yeah. Sure.” He poured half of the mixture into Rachel’s pot.

—

“She doesn’t get it.”

Percy had announced the previous statement, but because he was in the library, he’d done so in an annoyed whisper. He dropped his bag on the floor and sat across from Jason, who was sat between two shelves and behind numerous others on the wooly blue-black carpet.

Jason glanced up. “Sorry?”

“Annabeth. She doesn’t get”—Percy made a hand motion between the two of them—“ _it_. You know. Us.”

It had taken Percy forever to find Jason, it being the middle of a Saturday and the library being the _last_ place Percy would ever think to go. He could tell Jason wasn’t actually paying attention to the book on his knees.

“What do you mean?”

“She…” Percy sighed tremendously, earning a loud and merciless _shh!_ that hailed from somewhere across the library from an unseen Madam Pince. “I don’t know. She just thought we… got off, I guess.”

“Well, we did.”

Percy glared. “Yeah, Jason. Technically Like, a million times. Since fucking _February_.”

“A million?” Jason had hooked his grin around one of his canines to keep it up.

Percy leaned back against the shelf behind him. “Shut up.”

Jason closed his book. “Does this mean we finally get to just make out in front of her? Since she doesn’t understand?”

Jason was a surprising person. He seemed reserved, private—maybe even somewhat conservative—until he randomly _wasn’t_. It always threw Percy off. Kicked the bottom out of his stomach. And it wasn’t something Percy could track. It wasn’t something for which he could _prepare himself_. He just had to settle for getting the bottom kicked out of his stomach. He was just glad that it had never happened in front of their friends. Maybe it never would. Maybe Jason was only that way around Percy.

Maybe it was about to happen in front of their friends.

The response Percy finally forced himself to get out was a sarcastic, “Yeah, sure. Whatever. If it comes up naturally.”

“I can handle that.”

—

Piper sat on Percy’s desk. That was unfortunate, as Percy had been levitating said desk until Piper added eighty kilos to its weight and pushed it back onto the stone floor with a scraping thump.

No one really noticed; the charms classroom was completely chaotic.

“So,” she said, not awkwardly. “You and Grace, huh?”

Percy leaned forward and propped his chin on his hand. He shrugged.

“He says I can’t tell Beth.”

“God,” Percy said, more under his breath than not, “he’s really gonna go through with it.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He almost wanted to laugh.

“Hey.” Piper poked back Percy’s forehead, forcing him to look up. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I just…” Percy lifted his chin from his fist. “I don’t know. I feel like everyone’s staring at me. Like they know.”

“Okay, one, it’s literally just me; two, no one would care; and three, _I_ don’t care. I mean, I think it came a little out of nowhere, but—”

“—Exactly! That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

Piper laughed. “Let me finish.”

Percy gifted her a rude gesture with one hand whilst making the _go on_ motion with the other.

“Ha. Anyway, it’s not like I didn’t know he’s liked you since, like, second year—at least that’s when _I_ found out—but I didn’t know you—”

“—Are you serious?”

“What?”

“Okay, before I say: Where the _fuck_ have you _been_?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing! You know what? Nothing.” Percy was laughing. “And we are _not_ having this conversation right now. I don’t care. Talk to me later.”

Piper looked a little hurt. “Alright. Just know you’ve successfully confused me.”

“Who hasn’t?” It was so clearly a joke that Piper’s expression didn’t deepen. “Get off my desk.”

—

Rachel took a seat on Percy’s knees in one of the Sytherin common room chairs. It wasn’t like they could really fit onto one together, but they tried anyway.

“This is messier than expected.”

Percy assumed she was referring to something non-physical, as the common room was to-standard impeccable. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t tell Annabeth.”

“What the fuck is it now, Jackson? I’ve looked into it—you know the muggle psychology thing—and it’s actually rather interesting. I—”

“—Jason. Not me.”

Rachel fell silent. She relaxed into Percy’s shoulder. “Oh.”

The common room at that time was sparsely populated. It was just the two of them and and a pair of third-year girls in the opposing corner, who didn’t seem to care about them in the slightest.

Rachel rested her chin on Percy’s shoulder, her face humorously close to his. (She had eyes that were impossibly large, like some kind of humanised cartoon deer, and she was using them to look into Percy’s soul.)

Percy sighed. “What, Rachel?”

“Why don’t you want anyone to know?”

Percy’s hand shot up a few inches in a gesture of disbelief. “Can we talk about something else for once? Like, just once? Two minutes? Fuck, I’ll talk with you about Quidditch. I don’t care.”

“Nah.” She jabbed two fingers just above Percy’s slouched solar plexus, like she was making it very clear she knew exactly where it was. “Jason. You. Conflict. Spill.”

“There’s no ‘conflict’.”

This jab landed just below.

“Stop abusing me. I can’t tell you about what’s been going on because nothing _has been_. Yeah—hey, fuck off.” (The last four words were Percy grabbing Rachel’s hand in the attempt of another assault.) “Everything’s fine. Everything’s good, actually. Great. S’just me.”

“Then talk about _you_.”

“My _God_ , Rachel.”

“Not him, you.”

There was a solid five seconds of silence before Percy realised Rachel had made a joke. And he laughed at it.

Rachel prompted him: “Seriously.”

“Yeah. I’m serious. I _seriously_ don’t want to talk about this.”

“Ten seconds. And you can’t slow down. Okay?”

Percy stared. Rachel said, “I’m counting. Go.” 

Percy sighed.

“Eight seconds.”

He shrugged. “Whatever.” And then Percy let himself talk. “It makes me uncomfortable. I don’t know. It’s like—I spent all this time hating him, and then I _pretended_ to hate him for a long time and I didn’t even let _him_ know—and then we were _friends_ —kind of?—we still are—and a few people found that kind of weird, so what are they going to say about this? Like, I’m so used to hiding that I’m not really sure what to do. Does that make any sense? That doesn’t make any sense, does it? I’m an arsehole, aren’t I? I’m making it seem like I’m ashamed of him. Or scared, or something. But I’m _not_. I mean, I’m a little scared, but not like that. I just. I don’t want people to think we hate-fucked or something. God. I just said that, didn’t I?”

Rachel stared at him. “Thirty-two,” she said.

“Fuck. _Fuck!”_ He wasn’t even laughing. “Fuck you, Dare.”

Rachel chewed her bottom lip in faux-humility. “What are you afraid of?”

“I gave you four times the content you wanted. I’m not talking.”

“It’s gotta be important.”

“It’s _not_. It’s so stupid. I don’t even know what I’m scared of. I just am.”

“Him?”

“Who, Jason? God, no. I’m, like, the opposite of scared of Jason. What’s the word for that?”

Rachel shrugged. “Other people?”

“I don’t know, Rachel.” Percy hit his head against the back of the chair. “I don’t know. It just freaks me out.” 

“It doesn’t change anything.”

“I know. I—fuck, Rachel. I really don’t want to talk. Let up, okay?”

Some days, Rachel’s curiosity could be sedated with a broken tone and a question mark. This day was one of those days. Rachel returned her head to its place on Percy’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Okay.”

—

“I think this is the problem with being friends with just girls.”

Piper pointed out, “You’re friends with Jason.”

“Doesn’t count.”

Piper shoved a pot of some seething vegetal mass at Percy, like she expected him to be able to handle it. “You never actually said the problem.”

“You all just care about how I’m feeling.”

“That’s kind of sexist.” Piper nudged the pot slightly closer to Percy. Percy pretended not to notice.

He shrugged. “It’s just experience. Data.”

Piper considered this, then decided she thought it was stupid and rolled her eyes. “So, when you and Jason hang out, you just break cinder blocks and discuss your most recently acquired pelts?”

Percy also rolled his eyes. “All I’m saying is—”

—He stopped when Piper yelped as the vegetal mass leapt from the pot to grab his arm and bringing teeth Percy hadn’t known existed directly into his flesh. One _Incendio_ later, everyone in the entire room was staring at him, silent, looking either confused or murderous.

(Well, Sprout was murderous. Everyone else seemed confused. Jason looked exasperated.)

Piper said, “You just burnt that.”

Percy nodded. “Mmhm.” Most of the hair on his arm had been burnt, too. He didn’t want to open his mouth, because although the plant matter had turned to ash, the teeth were still stuck in his arm. The jagged tops of pearly, inch-long daggers protruded from his skin, surrounded in little blots of blood that were turning to streaks.

(Professor Sprout still looked like she wished Percy had been burnt instead of the plant. Percy thought he was pretty close, so she shouldn’t have been complaining. Jason had noticed the ridges and blood on Percy’s arm and was starting to look concerned, for which Percy was glad, because no one else seemed to have seen yet.)

Piper patted the back of his shoulder. “I’ll get another one.”

—

Percy felt slightly bad at first about murdering the vegetal mass, but he and Piper were able to laugh about it by Potions. Piper also asked him if he was coming to the Quidditch match that afternoon, the first of the season. Jason, she added, wanted him to be there, if he wasn’t opposed.

Percy was opposed.

“You can sit with me,” Piper said.

Percy shrugged.

“At least come to the tower with us afterword.”

Percy looked up at her from his work, mildly horrified. “That’s even _worse_.”

“How so?”

“Last time I was there you _left me on my own_ , Piper! I’m not interested in being abandoned again.”

“Jason’ll be there. And Beth.”

Percy suddenly felt as if he understood something. “I don’t think I—”

“—You’re gonna go, Percy.” Piper said it in a way that meant she didn’t actually mean it, but that Percy would regret skimping regardless.

“Yeah. Okay.” Percy watched Jason working from across the room. They didn’t have partners; Piper was just incredibly good at crossing a room without anyone noticing. When he looked back down at his work, he was pretty sure Piper had switched their cauldrons while he wasn’t looking, but he couldn’t be sure.

—

Percy ended up going to the match. Sitting with Piper and attempting to pay attention (which wasn’t really that difficult, as he _cared_ , but he didn’t really care) was clearly preferable to being stuck in the common room with Rachel as she tried to make him talk about his insecurities. (He hoped she would forget about it all soon so that he could go back to not ignoring her.)

Gryffindor won, and Percy was glad he didn’t really have any house pride, as he was sitting on the Gryffindor side and everyone around him seemed incredibly invested in it.

Piper shook Percy to tell him to stop leaning on her as Jason made his way up into the stands minutes later. The time it took Jason to unstrap leather shinguards and related attachments was the same amount of time it took about half of the people in the stands to file out. This removal of crimson and gold fabric along side authentic leather left Jason in jeans and a t-shirt. For this, Percy pitied him, as it was twelveish degrees. Piper evidently pitied him as well; she shrugged off her oversized red fabric jacket and handed it to him. Jason took it without conversation. The trio started to make their way out of the stands as some of the last few, with Piper and Jason just ahead as they were actually talking about the game, and Percy barely behind.

Percy tracked their conversation at first (Piper said, “You almost died” in reference to a narrow miss with a blunger, in response to which Jason laughed and agreed) but ultimately stopped listening.

Jason dropped back without Percy noticing, bumping their shoulders together. The contact was unexpected, and Percy jumped a little, drawing a quiet laugh from Jason.

Jason said, “Thanks for coming.”

Percy shrugged. “No problem. You did good.”

They were now out of the stands and on the green, making their way back up to the castle in the almost-dark. Piper was a few strides ahead; she and Jason must have discussed it.

It took a few taps on the back of Percy’s palm to get him to realise that Jason was offering his hand. Percy took it after muttering a quick and unnecessary but appreciated apology. Jason’s fingers were freezing. Percy told him so.

“Not as bad as this,” Jason said, before picking up Percy’s hand with his and pressing the back of Percy’s palm to his cheek. He wasn’t lying.

“Is it a lot colder up there than the stands?” Percy asked, because he didn’t remembered.

Jason shrugged. “Must be. But it doesn’t feel like it.”

Percy blew out a quick, jackal-like laugh of air. “I just noticed you’re wearing those stupid gloves.”

“They’re efficient!”

“Maybe if you had gloves with _fingers_ you wouldn’t be so fucking cold.”

Jason held up his free hand and presented it to Percy. “See the little groove things? They’re for grip. They’re _efficient_ , I say. You’re just against the modern age.”

They fell into silence, almost cresting the last hill to the castle.

“You’re coming to Gryffindor, yeah?” Jason asked it softly and earnestly, like it actually mattered. It probably did, to him. Maybe Percy was an idiot. He wouldn’t put it past himself.

“ ’Course. Piper promised she wouldn’t forsake me like last time.”

Jason winced like it was a jab at him, and even though it wasn’t, Percy could understand how he could’ve thought so. “Everyone talks. I’ll be around.”

Percy sent a light pulse into Jason’s hand from his own. “I’ll count on it.”

—

Percy and Jason’s hands had achieved a conjoined homeostasis by the time the three reached the Gryffindor common room, but Jason slipped his hand into Percy’s back pocket regardless. Percy would’ve pulled away, had his back not been to the corner. Jason was talking amiably to someone Percy didn’t know, but he didn’t mind much, as no one really gave him a second look when he was leaning into Jason’s arm and waist.

He decided that he liked it that way.

The atmosphere of the gathering was the same—people Percy didn’t know talking about things he wasn’t interested in—but it felt different, in a way, for Percy. Maybe it was Jason’s close proximity. Maybe it was everyone treating him with less hostility—after all, if Jason had deemed him passable, who was anyone else in the house to argue? Maybe it was the pressing sense of anxiety Percy felt while waiting for Annabeth to show up.

She really was taking a long time.

The celebration itself took a long time. Percy kept waiting for Jason to lose his patience and press him into a corner. He kind of wished Jason would, too.

—

Annabeth finally did arrive, in the two seconds that Jason wasn’t pressed to Percy’s side. Her fair hair was wind-whipped, and she was busy trying to tuck locks of it behind her ear when she met Percy in the corner.

“Sorry it took me so long,” she apologised airily. “Took me ages to remember the password.”

It took Percy a few seconds to remember the password, as he hadn’t need to open the door himself. He nodded in understanding, almost over the noise of everyone else.

“You don’t come up here often,” he guessed.

She eyed him strangely before shaking her head. “Ravenclaw tower’s better, anyway. Why? Do you?”

Percy was about to give a dead, _Yeah, actually,_ when Jason returned. Percy felt him rather than saw or heard him—the slip of Jason’s hand to the back of Percy’s waist, the closing distance between his lips and the spot just above Percy’s ear. Which, in theory, seemed ridiculous when paired alongside Jason’s personality. The public displays of affection were out of the ordinary for him _anyway_ (although it was admittedly more natural for him than Percy), and Percy was both confused and alarmed before he learned that Jason was actually leaning close so he could lower his voice rather than kissing Percy’s temple.

“Everything’s alright?” Jason’s voice was barely loud enough to hear.

Percy nodded. He whispered back, “All systems are go,” because he didn’t know what else to say. He could feel Annabeth’s eyes on him. Then Jason _did_ kiss his temple, and Percy had even less idea of what to say, and was probably the most confused and completely at the mercy of other people than he’d even been in his entire life.

Jason’s voice was still incredibly low when he asked Percy, “You’re coming up with me later? I’m almost through.” His voice had gotten a little older for a second, but then it was back. “I think I want to be alone with you.”

“If you really want.”

“I always do.”

“There’s a person right there.”

“I don’t think she can hear this.” Jason’s hand, thankfully, was invisible in its place just above the back of Percy’s hip. His hand slipped beneath Percy’s waistline, just for a second. 

Percy felt himself shiver against the wall. “I’m—I’m gonna talk to her. She’s going to ask questions. Get off me for a second.”

Jason’s hand, shrouded both by Percy’s trousers and his long shirt, crept to hook his fingertips around Percy’s hipbone. “You’re sure you want that?”

“Jason.” Percy wasn’t sure he wanted that. In fact, he was pretty sure he didn’t want that at all. But it would’ve been incredibly awkward to become turned on in front of Annabeth, and he could tell Jason was having too much fun with it, so he unthreaded himself and turned to talk to Annabeth instead.

—

Annabeth hadn’t even been that freaked out.

Jason’s idea had worked; she’d understood by watching. She only brought it up for a second, to clarify, then decided she didn’t want to talk about it at the time (she made it very clear they’d be having an extensive conversation about it later, which Percy was already dreading), then pushed the entire topic aside. Jason got sucked away into more conversation, but Piper and Annabeth were there, so Percy didn’t mind so much.

Evening disappeared into later night, as could be seen out the window, and people began to disappear. It wasn’t the most rowdy of gatherings, and the curfew still stood. Piper and Annabeth were enthralled in whatever the other was saying in one corner, and Jason and Percy stood in another. There was barely anyone left there at all.

Jason sighed. “You tired?”

In response, Percy laid his cheek against Jason’s shoulder.

“So, yeah?”

“Tired? No. Tired of _this_? Yes.”

Jason laughed at that. “Sorry. At least it went well.”

Percy hummed in agreement. “Game was good, too.”

“Oh, yeah.” Jason ducked away from Percy for a second to dig around in his pockets. He produced a dull brass pin. “This was my prove-myself match.”

“You’re captain now?”

Jason nodded.

“Why’d you need a prove yourself match?”

Jason shrugged. “All I know is Cian wanted to resign, so it’s me now.”

“That’s amazing, Grace.”

Jason shrugged, but he wore a fragile, pleased expression on his face. He looked back over his shoulder. The empty stairwell was incredibly beckoning. He said, “Now that people know, I don’t think…”

“It won’t be weird?”

He shrugged. “I doubt it. They have girls over half the time. Everyone just knows, you know? It’s like a code of honour.”

It occurred to Percy that he didn’t know, and wouldn’t know about this type of things, because he still wasn’t friends with his year mates after six years.

Percy said, “Yeah, sure.”

Rachel would probably wonder where he was, but he’d never said he’d be back that night. At worst she’d assume he was dead, and probably still wouldn’t do anything about it. He thought it over, and looked back toward the empty stairwell.

They left Piper and Annabeth in the common room.


	26. Twenty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. hi.  
> i'm not dead*  
> would ya look at that.
> 
> i'm working on two (2) novels (gay) if anyone cares and more fics (also gay)  
> regularish schedule returning soon
> 
> *(i’m not fixed, but i’m not giving up yet--)

Percy didn't know what he wanted to do with his life.

  
Everyone else seemed to. Annabeth could do whatever she wanted, because she was mentally and financially able to get the qualifications; Jason would go into Quidditch, and he didn't need anything else, because even after you were retired, you were set. Rachel was going into Divination, because she loved it and she wasn't a fake. Percy didn't think Piper knew what she going to do as a job, but she didn't need to, not if she really didn't want to get one. Fucking rich people.

Percy, however, was stuck with no interests, no skills, and no money.

That wasn't exactly true. He was good at potions. Making them. Doing them. Whatever. He was into it. Enough, at least. But unless he wanted to become the future Snape at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he wasn't sure there was very much he could do to make a career out of it.

He could go into a muggle job. If he had to. The thought alone was tiring, but he could do it.

He had been talking about it all to Annabeth recently. She found it interesting, but didn't really care. After all, couldn't he just go to University?

 _Yeah_ , Percy, he thought. _Can't you just go to university?  
_

He didn't think he could. His grades were too low to go with aid; his everything else was too low to go without it.

Did wizards even _go_ to university? Annabeth certainly seemed to think so.

Percy didn't think he'd ever even heard of a non-muggle university. The professors didn't talk about it. His friends had never mentioned any names, nor his mother. That was _insane_.

Perhaps it was just to imply that Percy shouldn't seek further education.

But what would he do, then? What was he supposed to _do_? Maybe this was what happened when you never thought about your future until it was staring you down the barrel of the figurative adult gun.

For the first time, Percy thought he didn’t want to finish school.

Rachel was asleep next to him, her chest rising and falling in a much calmer manner than how Percy felt. Had she been awake, he couldn't talked to her about it. Asked her. _How does this play out? What do I need to do?  
_

Rachel would tell him that he ended up as the new caretaker.

For some reason, he was very, very worried about all of it. He didn't quite know why. It wasn't like it was more urgent then than it had been a month ago. Well, really, it was. It was growing ever-more urgent. But it wasn't like he only had a few weeks left of school; it was October of his sixth year. He had—Percy ran through the maths in his head—twenty months. One point sixty-six years. That was enough time, right? Enough time to sort out his entire life?

Why was everything so much more complicated at night?

When he sat up, his left arm was shot through with sleep. Rachel was hugging his pillow to her chest protectively; she had been when they had been talking, earlier, and Percy had _thought_ she was going to give it back, but she hadn't, obviously, so he had just used his arm. He was starting to regret that then, as he slipped out of the curtains as quietly as he could. He fumbled for his wand in the darkness. He found it leaning precariously against a book, half-off the edge of his trunk. He tucked it into the waistband of his pants, pressed like a splint to his hip.

Percy turned to find someone across the room staring at him.

He did not scream.

Percy's eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness found outside the frame of his bed. On second thought, without taking his eyes off the face, he reached back into the curtains of his fourposter and nabbed the dream light, which had been glowing a soft orangey-yellow. Once against his palm, it cooled like an ember and went dark. In his hand, it felt like security. Percy raised his wand at the face from across the room.

The face changed its expression from confused to exasperated. "What the Hell, Perseus?"

Percy suddenly recognised both the voice and the face. Liam. His own yearmate. Merlin, he felt like a fucking idiot.

Percy hastily shoved his wand back into his waistband. "Yeah. Sorry. I'll just—" he made to leave the boys' dorm, pausing only to grab his shoes.

"The fuck are you going?"

Although Liam had said _'the fuck'_ , it didn't exactly sound like he'd said _'the fuck'._ It sounded more like he'd said, _'young man'_ , and the words _'the fuck'_ had come out instead. The former didn't make very much grammatical sense, so Percy could see why he'd gone for the latter.

Percy inched toward the door and gestured. "Out there."

Liam rubbed at his eye and shrugged. " 'Lright. I just woke up when I heard water. Was that one of the mermaids?"

By _one of the mermaids,_ Liam was referring to the wall of the Slytherin common room that was completely exposed to the loch. It wasn't exactly uncommon for mermaids to fuck with the students.

Percy also knew that the water Liam had heard was from his bed, when he opened the curtains. He held the dream ball tighter in his hand.

"I'll—I'll go check. See if they made another leak."

Liam already wasn't paying attention; Percy was free.

—

Jason made a tired, agitated noise when Percy weighed down the edge of his mattress. Luckily, the noise didn't matter, as the curtain was already closed. Getting out of Slytherin was the hard part. Getting across the school. Getting into Gryffindor was like a walk in the greenhouse compared to that. Gryffindors slept like stones.

Jason had left enough room for Percy to add himself without trouble; perhaps on purpose, perhaps not, but it really didn't matter. Percy had come up to hear Jason's voice.

He had hoped that Jason would still be awake. He'd even kind of expected him to be. Jason hadn't told Percy, and Percy was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to have noticed, but Jason had picked up what could be called a fraction of Percy's insomnia ever since they'd come back to school.

Percy contemplated whether it was worth it or not to wake Jason up.

On the one hand, his mission up to Gryffindor tower had somewhat taken his mind off the crushing reality of his future on its own; on the other hand, he still wanted to talk to Jason.  
He cast the soundproofing spells under his breath, regardless.

Jason was still asleep. He slept kind of strangely, Percy noted, looking over at him from his half-slouched spot on the other side of the bed. Jason was pushed against the edge of the mattress, only an inch or so from the edge, completely on his side, the arm that was against the mattress pulled up under his head. (That absolutely _had_ to be uncomfortable.) His other arm was slightly forward, with his open palm facing the ceiling.

Percy poked Jason's palm, so light as to not be noticed. He was not noticed.

Percy was completely aware that he had tried not to be noticed, but he still felt a little disappointed. He sighed and slid down against the headboard. Five minutes of silence. He turned on his side to face Jason.

Jason was watching him.

Percy jumped. "Jesus fucking Christ."

Jason cracked a smile. "Think how surprised I was."

When Jason rubbed at his eyes, Percy reached back outside the curtains of the fourposter to retrieve Jason's wireframes from the bedside table.  
Jason blinked as he put them on; he'd been talking to Percy a few days previous about how he had become increasingly dependent on glasses ever since he'd gotten them, and how it was probably a conspiracy. Still, he said, it beat being almost legally blind.

Jason kept looking at Percy. He said, "You look tired."

Percy reached up to the back of his neck. "God, Jason, thanks."

"Not in a bad way. You're still..." Jason stopped. "I don't know what to call you."

Percy cocked his head as best as he could while lying on his side.

Jason shrugged as best as he could while lying on his side. "I don't know. Like. You're _pretty_. Do you mind being called pretty?"

Percy felt his own face scrunch up, which probably gave Jason the wrong idea about what he'd just said when Percy was actually just thinking. "I think you've already called me that."

"I didn't know if it..." Jason said again, "I don't know. Made you uncomfortable?" It ended like a question, although it wasn't. "Just want to know."

"Eh. Freaks me out less that 'handsome'. That's a word for relatives. Off-limits."

Jason nodded solemnly. Then he said, "Studly."

"Shut the _fuck_ up. Go away. I— _no_.”

Jason was laughing, turned on his back with his hand against his face. He was quiet even though he didn't have to be. Percy laughed, too, although none it was really very funny.

Jason asked, softly and more to the canopy than to Percy, "We'll stick with pretty?"

"If I can say it, too, yeah."

Jason looked back over at him, both exasperated and endeared. "Not to be rude, but why are you here?"

Percy's cheek was pressed into the dark sheets on Jason's mattress, and he was laying so strangely on his half-stomach, half-side, that when he tried to shrug, nothing happened. Which meant he had to actually speak.

"What are you gonna do with your life?"

Had it not been clear that the expression on Jason's face had taken up residence because that question was so entirely _not what he'd been expecting,_ Percy would've thought Jason just didn't have an answer to his question.

But Jason just stared for a few seconds in bewilderment, not loss. "Is this your way of asking who I'm signing with? Because I still don't know."

So that was the end of that. So Percy was not going to gain any comfort from shared mentalities. He sighed. "No. S'fine."

Jason reached his hand up toward Percy purposefully, but ended up just pushing his shoulder a bit. There was no discernible reason for such an action. Percy caught his wrist on the way back, pinning it fast between his own palm and the mattress. He sighed again. He was glad it sounded a little more angry than at a loss.

Jason kept looking at him, one eyebrow raised a tiny bit. He didn't move their hands, and closed his eyes.

"Do you think we're normal?"

It had come out of nowhere, or Percy was worse at reading people than he'd thought.

He shrugged. "I don't know. What does that mean?"

Jason flipped his hand so they were both loosely held, palms together. "Like. I don't know. _Like_ —I don't know. Never mind." Jason brought his own hand up to his mouth in thought, which pressed Percy's knuckles against his lips. Percy kind of felt like he was punching him. Jason said, "Yeah. Never mind."

Percy paused. "Okay." He felt Jason bite down a smile that was more tired than lazy.

Jason didn't open his eyes. "Can I stay with you over Christmas?"

Percy almost laughed, because it seemed so random; it wasn't even halfway through October. Then he weighed the options.

It was him, which he had to assume Jason wouldn't mind; Joanna Grace, which he knew Jason _would_ mind; or—his sister?

"Thalia didn't invite you to stay with her?"

Jason froze for a second, then shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, yeah, she did, but I don't want to—"

"—Yeah," Percy said, although he didn't really get it. He didn't, however, exactly want to push something he didn't understand—which was out of the ordinary, for him, he guessed, but it didn't seem strange to do just then.

"So," Jason prompted, in the way one prompts when one doesn't want to seem like one is trying to get something from the other person.

" _So_ ," Percy said back. He studied the exact sequence of Jason's smile appearing on his face. "Yeah. You can stay. Of course you can stay. I mean—"

"—Yeah," Jason said.

Percy didn't exactly roll his eyes.

Jason kept watching him. "Are you staying here?”

"Do you want me to go?"

Jason _did_ roll his eyes. He'd already let go of Percy's hand, but he reached back for his wrist, just for a second, just his fingertips against Percy's skin. "No."

—

Maybe Percy could just stay here for the rest of his life.

Fuck, maybe he _should_.

Or maybe that was all of the odd-ball optimism permeating the air—a direct result of the group of people behind him and the sight of his home before him.

Percy, Sally, Annabeth, Jason, Piper, and Rachel all stood in the gravelly driveway before 18 _Heol Cyfieithu._ The gardens on the west side of the house were tangled and dead in the midst of winter, but Percy still found the sight of them to be still strangely comforting.

Rachel was only there for two days, and that was stretched. Percy suspected a person in sharp-looking clothing, sans personality, would be there to pick her up twenty-two minutes before schedule when the time came.

Piper's father was out of the continent for the time being, so she had ebulliently escaped Jane in favour of Llaneilian.

Annabeth's family had been less ready to let her go, but if she needed to be quickly recalled—which could definitely happen—Percy's home was only three hours' drive from the Chase residence in London.

Regardless, they were there. It was having every possible positive effect on Percy's mood.

It was not at all similar to the last time Percy had come home, but it felt like a strange sort of mirror nonetheless. Maybe it was because it was all was so different—his friends were there, and Jason had been pressed against-on-top of him in the backseat of the rental. It was winter.

Percy drastically preferred this newer reflection.

The trip from school to King's Cross had brought up, in an uncharacteristically chipper tone from Jason given the topic, discussion of Jason's legal standing and impending adoption.  
For the next year (year and a half? The lines between wizard and muggle law blurred often, since Percy understood neither) Jason would be living under the legal guardianship of his sister, about which he seemed both excited and relieved, since the other option had been Joanna Grace. He'd fallen silent on the topic when they'd gotten into the backseat of Sally's magically-expanded rental car, but the other four had appreciated the update and interaction while they had lasted.

One car ride and four hours later, the five of them inhabited the ancient and underused library in the uppermost floor of the old house. They talked about things that didn't really matter in low voices since they didn't possess the energy for anything louder, even though they hadn't done anything to spend said energy that day at all.  
Jason, leaning back between Percy's legs, the pair of them pressed into the corner of the library's sofa, said the least, as he was mostly unconscious anyway. His head tipped back onto Percy's shoulder, but if anyone found the proximity strange, they didn't comment.

In fact, on the topic of Jason and Percy and their proximity and _strange,_ it in comparison to the last few months was exactly so.

Percy suspected that had it not been for him, he and Jason would've been a lot more public a lot more frequently a lot sooner. Actually, he didn't suspect; he _knew_. Percy tended to—unless they were actually completely alone and insured to be so for the immediate future—be as affectionate with Jason as a resident of a nunnery.

But after six-plus hours on a train and three in a car where he (due mostly to principles) didn't get to really touch Jason, it had seemed necessary and preferred that Percy'd get to touch him then. So, when a tired Jason Grace had leaned back into him a few minutes after they'd gotten up to the library, Percy hadn't complained. Now he was so fixated on it because it was so out of the ordinary and he was having a great fucking time and _nobody was saying anything.  
_

It was times like that when he really felt stupid about having not wanted to tell anyone.

It was also times like that when he thought he probably shouldn't be so enamoured with such small things.

Rachel was relating her lament for her lack of oracle flowers to Percy—(to which Percy responded,  _"I don't pity voyeurs"_ )—and Piper and Annabeth were engaged in some sort of activity where one would try to use random book titles they found in conversation. Percy felt Jason's relaxed breathing against his stomach. The slowness of it all tired and assuaged him.

 _What if this was it_ , Percy thought. And what if it _was_ it? What if it was him, and Jason, and Llaneilian? Or somewhere? And his friends, if they weren't too busy changing the world.

Nothing scared him about that vision of the future. He didn't think so.

Except thinking of suggesting it.

Annabeth tapped his shoulder.

"We were thinking," she said (she paid no mind to Jason), "that we could go to the cliffs; Rachel hasn't been."

Percy had no idea if that was true, but he heard himself saying, _Yeah, sure, one second._ There was something about Llaneilian's cliffs that he couldn't refuse.

Percy attempted to get off the sofa without causing a national disturbance. Jason's head fell back so hard against the wooden armrest that he woke up, making a horrid noise of obvious pain. Piper laughed, but it was closer to a snort, from the other side of the room.

Jason said, indignant and under his breath, "What the Hell?" which Percy savoured, because (although he would never admit it) he found Jason's attempts at swearing somewhat endearing.

"We're going to the cliffs," Percy said. He lowered himself to his knees next to the sofa. "Come with?"

He already knew Jason's answer. Percy himself had been woken up too many times from decent sleep and expected to _do things_. The fundamental difference between Percy and Jason in that scenario was that Percy involved much more swearing.

"Right." Percy stood back up. "Back in a bit. I'll come wake you up."

Jason didn't exactly _nod_ , but he did mumble _Love you, don't get caught in the rain_ , so Percy took that as confirmation enough.

—

Annabeth caught up with Percy on the trek through the fields. She hadn't said anything to him on the walk until then, which was unlike her. She got up to stride with Percy easily and stayed there.

"I didn't know you two were serious."

"What?"

”You're all..." Annabeth shrugged and meshed her fingers together. She studied her enjoined hands. " _Yeah_."

That was when Percy realised that Annabeth hadn't meant _serious_ as in _not joking_ , and felt extremely relieved. Then a little awkward.

"I mean..." he also shrugged. "I don't know. I guess we're serious? We don't really talk about it."

"He said he loves you. I know that's not the first time."

Percy sighed. "Correct."

"Do you love him?"

"Yeah."

"I mean. Alright.”

Silence. Five metres, ten, twenty.

"What are you doing?" Percy asked. "After... after school?"

Annabeth looked over at him. Her eyes were the same colour as the sky. She started laughing.

“What?” Percy demanded. “What, I’m serious!”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know. I’m going to uni for architecture. Who knows? I kind of just—I kind of would just like to study for the rest of my life.”

They’d reached the cliffs. Piper was giving Rachel a tour, although there wasn’t exactly much to show. _Look, there’s some rocks! And water!  
_

Percy sat in the place he always did, a very lethal distance between the soles of his trainers and the frigid water below.

Annabeth took a seat next to him.

“Don’t you want to, I don’t know,” Percy said, “improve the world?”

“Shit,” Annabeth said, then didn’t say anything else. She was silent for a few seconds. “Yeah, ‘course. I think I’d like to remake it. But that doesn’t mean I can.”

“Of course you can.”

Annabeth picked up a humourous sort of tone. “ _‘You can do anything’_ ,” she said.

Percy shrugged. “I mean, if anyone could.”

“Shut up.”

They both stared out at the horizon. Percy knocked his ankle against hers. “Like, muggle architecture?”

She shrugged. “S’a bit more interesting, yeah? And there’s no good courses for it at magical universities.”

So they did exist.

Annabeth looked back over to him. “Why?”

Percy shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, I—”

Annabeth shushed him and looked out, past Percy, back into the darkening field.

One second there was a figure in the distance, the next there was no one; by the third second Jason was next to them.

Percy was confused.

Annabeth looked up at Jason for a second, then bit out a laugh. Jason sat down on the other side of Percy, who still felt confused.

“How’d you get here?”

Jason slipped his hand into Percy’s. “Apparated.”

Percy pulled his hand back. “You don’t have a license.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t know how to do it.”

Annabeth said, “A lot of people learn beforehand.”

“Can _you_ do it?”

“In theory.” Annabeth shrugged. “But my father’s in the ministry.”

Piper and Rachel made their way over, both on the other side of Jason.

Percy demanded, “Can either of you apparate?”

Rachel shook her head at the same time Piper raised her hand.

“How the _fuck_ have I not known about this?” Percy ignored Annabeth laughing at him and Jason almost doing the same thing. “Isn’t it illegal anyway, magic outside of school?”

“They don’t know,” Annabeth said. “If it's you or your parents.”

Rachel said, “Sucks to be muggle-born.” Annabeth nodded in solemn agreement.

Percy looked over at Jason, who was watching him, both intent and amused. “You made Thalia cast for you,” Percy said, “Last year.”

Jason shrugged. “Didn’t know last year.”

There was a lull, then Piper caught Annabeth's attention and Rachel caught Piper’s attention and Percy pulled one of his knees to his chin. It was almost dark.

“I didn’t think this through,” Jason said. He was hugging his own bare arms.

Percy felt superior in his jumper. “You didn’t. We'll go back soon.” Jason’s cheek actually was substantially cold against Percy's lips.

That was one year. It really didn’t feel like it.

Maybe that was it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been writing so much of my novels in first person present tense that this felt???? so weird??????? anywhom s'good to be back


	27. Twenty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so if u follow my tumblr (@mortaloracle) u'll know about Relapse and Things but that's boring so i'm not gonna talk about that here anyway hope u enjoy the chapter i've been workin on many a thing bye now love u

On the evening of December twenty-fourth, two thousand nine, Sally Jackson committed what she called her 'good deed of the season'—although Percy thought it was somewhere up around her eight thousandth instead—and left her home to supervise the four-year-old son of a coworker whilst said coworker was at a Christmas house party. Rachel had left the evening before.

That left Percy, Jason, Piper, and Annabeth home alone.

They were not exactly the type to rebel.  
Piper sat at Percy's desk, hiked down in the chair with her ratty trainers propped on the polished wood surface. Jason was looking at the ceiling from Percy's bed. Annabeth and Percy were both on the floor. Everyone was doing something. No one was saying anything.   
Companionable silence.  
Piper, about an hour later, was the one who asserted the idea that they should go outside. No one objected to the idea; they'd nothing better to do.

\--

"What about you two?"  
Piper was referring to both gift giving as well as Percy and Jason from her seat on the counter. Annabeth, from the vantage point of the intelligence high ground, had said they'd need hot drinks. So travel mugs were pulled out, the kettle was placed on the stove, and Percy had gotten to work stirring a pot of hot chocolate on the front burner (Piper'd spoken against tea).

They'd both agreed they weren't going to get each other gifts.

Jason briefly met Percy's eyes and pushed off the counter; he'd been leaning back on it next to Percy. "I was thinking I'd just make another light. One every year until one of us died."

"God, Perce," Annabeth said. "How're you ever gonna match that?"

Percy, deadpan: "My unconditional love and affection." Annabeth snorted.

"I'll pay for everyone's retirement parties," Piper said. She tugged at a thick bit of dark hair and frowned. She'd been talking about how she meant to cut it again for ages.

Percy felt Jason's arm against his back; Jason was between Percy and the counter on his right, hand braced on the oven handle to his left. His voice was low.

"Seriously, do you want something?"

"We talked about this."

"I know, but"--Jason's voice carried something like humor; his chin brushed the dip of Percy's shoulder--"if you want something, I'll get it."

_"Sod off."_

Annabeth laughed from the other side of the tiny kitchen. It was hard to tell whether it was at Percy or something Piper had said.

There was a span between the collar of Percy's worn shirt and the part of his neck where his hair ended. Jason pressed his lips to it.

Percy said, " _Chocolate's done_." He turned around.

Jason looked deflated, sure, but he was almost laughing, pinning it all on his bottom lip with his teeth. He'd kind of won, anyway: they were pressed together with Jason's arms on either side of them.

"I need to move my pot."

Jason mouthed,  _Later?_

" _I need to move my pot_."

"Fine, move your pot." Jason was laughing. Maybe it was because he couldn't take Percy seriously, or maybe it was because he couldn't take himself seriously. Then, just for Percy, he whispered, "But can I stay in your room?"

Percy turned back around. "I'm  _moving_  my  _pot_. Leave me alone."

Piper and Annabeth hadn't noticed anything. Jason slipped two of his fingers into the belt loop on Percy's hip and laughed a laugh that was mostly breath.

\--

It never really snowed in Llaneilian. Percy didn't think he remembered the last time it had. Sometimes the rain got a little sludgy, solidifying the tiniest bit before melting as soon as it touched the ground, but usually it just rained. Rained and rained and rained. The cracked, cobbled roads always had puddles.

For some reason, anyone Percy brought home seemed disappointed by this. Maybe it was because the snow at Hogwarts came down in huge drifts, bleaching every inch of the grounds. Percy hated to be the first to step on any part of it, ruining a paper-blank world.

The upshot was that Annabeth deemed Llaneilian unfairly snowless and took it upon herself to cast a small group of clouds some metres above them. 

They were going to go to the cliffs, but they never made it past the porch. They were less of a row than a conglomerate; it was impossible for Percy to tell who was beside him and who was half-across him and who was behind or in front of him. The conversation was a mess of inhale-exhale-laugh-push-interrupt-mutter-demand-circulate-inhale-exhale-laugh. Then it fell to religion, so Percy checked out.

"--Yeah," Annabeth said, probably louder than the preceeding statement, "I never really got the whole Christmas story. Timeline's fucked, yeah?"

"I mean"--this was Jason--"it's kind of up to interpretation."

" _'It's kind of up to interpretation'_."

Jason cracked a smile.

Percy asked, "Christmas story?" Then, when no one responded, louder: "There's a story?"

Silence.

Jason was the first to break it. "Percy, you went to church with me last year."

"I didn't really, like,  _pay attention._ "

Piper (who as best as Percy could understand could go either way on the subject of belief) asked, "...What did you think it was about?"

Percy shrugged. "I don't know. Good food. Presents. Yay. Whoo."

Annabeth and Piper shared a look.

Percy spun his hands around each other. "Yeah, well, explain."

He had just unknowingly launched a twenty-to-thirty minute explanation of the birth of Jesus Christ as Portrayed by Annabeth Chase and Piper McLean, which delivered about as much sarcasm and cursing as one might expect.

Percy was more worn that he thought he'd be by the end (the final sentence being:  _so the kings showed up, like, three years later, and even though they were asian every nativity has them as white with one black guy_ ); he found himself leaning farther and farther back against Jason, who eventually just let Percy lay back between his legs, back to his chest. He stayed so (essentially) still for so long that snow began to dust the toes of his trainers.

A year, almost. A year, depending on how you counted. Everything felt okay. Percy couldn't get over how completely mad that was.

They talked for maybe-hours, but not about anything that really mattered, because nothing really mattered. Jason's arm was lazily and contently crossed over Percy's waist, his face pressed into Percy's shoulder every so often for a few seconds against the cold. Percy noticed all of that, then he stopped noticing it and took it for granted because he could.

Maybe it was his flat-out strange brain and it's aversion to  _focus_  and all things verbal, or maybe he just didn't know what to say, but Percy checked out of the conversation and into the moment. He wandered, caught up in too-perfect snowflakes in Annabeth's hair and Piper's half-muffled laugh as she drank from a travel mug and the feeling of Jason talking rather than the sound of it, at least until Annabeth said, "Damn, headlamps are  _bright_  out here."

Percy looked up; his mother's car was pulling into the driveway. Annabeth had already gone back to talking, and Piper didn't seem at all fazed, but Percy felt Jason go completely still behind him. So he wasn't completely insane, then. Good to know.

It was kind of funny, that he was caught in  _actual_  headlamps. A deer in headlights. That was him: frozen and afraid, although he didn't know why.

Jason asked, "You alright?"  _He_  hadn't even pretended to sound unbothered when he'd asked.

Percy shook his head. "I mean, yeah, but--"

"-- _Damn_." That was all Jason said, but it kind of made sense to Percy.

The car door opened. The grocery bags emerged first, then the woman holding them.

Jason whispered, "Okay." Neither of them had moved.

Sally set some of her bags on the ground and leaned into the car to get more. Piper and Annabeth: Half-talking. Percy and Jason: Frozen.

Sally slung a bag over either wrist and shut the driver's side door. She waved a heavily laden arm toward the group from the end of the driveway.

Too late, then. Something in Percy's stomach dissipated.

Then Annabeth was poking his shoulder. "You're gonna help, yeah?"

"Yeah, uh"--Percy disentangled himself from Jason, who pulled himself up as soon as he was free--"yeah."

Piper hung around after Annabeth started down the driveway. Jason looked to Percy, then to Annabeth, then followed her to the car. Piper blew out a whistlish breath.

She said, "You look like you've seen a ghoul."

"S'ghost."

"Mm?"

"It's,  _'you look like you've seen a ghost'._ "

"Ghouls are scarier."

"I'm not scared."

She laughed. "Yeah, okay."

"She didn't know."

"What?"

Neither of them had moved to help yet. Something sarcastic was happening between Annabeth and Sally, something jovial with Jason, although he was obviously struggling with it. Percy'd give himself a minute, maybe, before they actually got back. He said, "She didn't know that I--Jason and me."

Incredible scepticism somehow looked even harsher on Piper's perfect features. "You think she'll care?"

"No," Percy said, before he could even really think about it. He was glad he could say it that fast. "No, it's just--"

"--He won't be able to stay in your room anymore." She was grinning like she found the whole situation hilarious.

" _No_ \--you know what? Sure. Yeah. I can't explain it, so we'll go with that. I'm gonna go help my mother."

Piper was still laughing. "Are you sure she even saw?"

" _Completely_. Come help, dick."


	28. Twenty-Eight

"I feel like I'm being watched."

Jason froze. "Don't say that, now I do too."

After Sally had gotten home, most of the childlike impendence of the coming morning had dissipated. She hadn't said anything to Percy, just enlisted his (and everyone else's) help in putting away groceries, and it was absolutely killing him.

Jason shifted, rubbing his cheek on the soft inner bit of Percy's arm; they always fell asleep meshed but never woke up the same way. "Think it's a ghost?"

"No."

Theoretically, there was nothing to be scared of, not with Sally Jackson of all people. But he was still so damn afraid. Afraid in some base, festering way. Far down somewhere, tangling itself up in his roots.

"You sound really sure about that."

He was scared in the way he'd been scared to tell Annabeth, to tell Piper.

"Yeah, 'cause the whole house is haunted and we don't like to talk about it."

Maybe half as scared as he'd been when Jason was telling Percy to push him off a bridge.

"You've seen them?"

Really, it had to happen at some point. If he was serious about this—and he was serious about it—he had to tell his mother.

"No, s'not like at school. Not enough magic to keep them around."

He'd just been subconsciously hoping it wouldn't have to happen just then. Maybe when he was thirty. Or when he was dead. Or when he was in the only non-apparatable part of Scotland and the whole thing could be easily addressed in two sentences in the middle of a mess of prose and never brought up again.

Jason worried at a fray in Percy's collar with his thumb. "Do you know who they are?"

"Who?"

"The ghosts."

"What?"

"In the house."

"Oh."

He had it really good. He knew that--at least part of him did, anyway.

Jason poked him lightly. "Percy?"

"Shit, yeah—my Great Aunt Lila. And—others. What did your mother think?"

"What?"

Jason had gone rigid, only slightly. Percy silently cursed himself. He sat up. Jason looked drowsy and confused. Percy said, "I mean—I meant—what did she think about you?"

Jason didn't answer. He just stared. Percy knew he sounded stupid, and he was fervently glad in that moment that he didn't feel embarrassed for it.

Jason raised himself on his elbows. Percy'd kissed him when he'd been laying like that a few times. Jason said, "I don't know what you mean, Perce. Are you asking if she loved me?"

"No—sort of."

"I'm just—" The sheets on Percy's bed had been pushed to the side; it got too warm in the old, insulated loft with the two of them and blankets, even in December. He twisted his hands through them then. He shot out a little bullet of a breath and got his shit together. "What would she have thought about this?"

Mercy was shown; Jason seemed to understand. "I think she'd've been fine with it."

"You think?"

"She didn't exactly have the best morals."

"She didn't know?"

Jason cocked his head. "Not sure, actually—are you worried about Sally—Miss Sally—your mum?"

Percy: Mm."Yeah."

Jason: Pft. "Don't be."

"I know!"

Jason laughed. He fell back on the bed, eyes mostly closed. The issue had been solved, so he was now checking out. His shirt was almost indistinguishable from the mattress, and it rode up just at his hip. Percy reached out and lay his palm there.

Jason mumbled, "What time is it?"

Percy checked. He had a tiny analog clock that had been brushed off his windowsill so many times that he wasn't quite sure how it still worked. "One ten."

Jason's voice was muffled a bit from his hand next to his face on the pillow. "Happy Christmas."

Percy sighed. "Happy Christmas, Jason."

\--

"Guys."

That was Annabeth, though Percy didn't know what she was doing in his room.

Jason pulled him closer. It was impossibly cold. "Yep."

"Up. Piper's procuring breakfast."

Percy opened his eyes. It was nine forty-three.

And that was a strange word choice: procuring. It implied neither creating nor buying, leaving Percy to wonder what exactly it meant.

Percy pulled Jason's arm from his chest, instantly regretting it. He was just colder. "Why's it freezing?" It wasn't supposed to get cold on the upper floor of the house.

"Tried to make it snow. Outside. Didn't go as planned. Wear shoes. Happy Christmas."

\--

It felt earlier than ten.

It wasn't really snowing outside, but there were thick, pearly-white clouds over the sun, casting the whole world in snow-pale light.

It  _was_  raining. But it was always raining.

Piper stood at the counter. There was breakfast in front of her, but Percy didn't really trust it.

She bit into a slice of bread that had been mutilated into a sort of tube shape and said, "So, I've discovered this thing."

Jason, hair mussed, leaned against the counter. Percy kind of wanted to press back into him, but Piper was standing almost directly in the center of the kitchen, and there really wasn't enough room. Instead he reached over to try and fix the mildly sexual occurrence that was Jason's hair.

Jason checked the kettle, but the light was still on. He sighed when he set it back down and said, "Shoot."

Annabeth interjected: "We went to get breakfast, because I can't cook and neither can Piper--"

"--And miss Sally was asleep--"

"--And we wanted to let her stay asleep--"

"--Exactly, so--"

"--We went to the shops--"

"--Yep and we got to this really nice café--"

"--But we left our money at home--"

"--Yeah so I kind of just asked the barista, like  _as a joke_ , obviously, if we could just take whatever we wanted. Just this one time."

Annabeth snorted. Jason looked like he didn't want to be hearing this until he'd ingested at least one mug of hot liquid. Percy'd found the conversation kind of hard to follow with all of the cutoffs.

Piper said, "And he just... said yeah, and then he  _gave_  it to me."

Silence. Jason laughed, like that might be the right response, but neither Piper or Annabeth said anything else.

Percy finally spoke. "Like, in a creepy way, or...?"

"No," Piper said. "He just looked like he wanted to just be nice."

Annabeth surveyed Jason and Percy's faces. "Yeah. I know. Mad."

Jason shrugged. "Not  _extremely_  so. I'd give free pastries to attractive girls."

Piper said, "This is why you've never had a job", at the same time Percy said, "You would?"

Jason checked the kettle again. The light was still on. He sighed a second time. He said to Piper, "That's not why. I don't have a job for the same reason you don't have a job."

Annabeth guessed, "Wizards don't have jobs until they're done school?"

"No. I've got enough money."

She shrugged. "You could still get a job. For, like, the experience benefits or whatever."

Jason looked like he was about to say something, then shook his head. "This is not the conversation we're supposed to be happening." He turned to Percy. "I'm  _supposed_  to say: Yeah, I probably would."

Piper gestured, like,  _there's my point_.

Jason said to Percy, "I mean"--he grinned--"I'd give you free pastries, too."

Annabeth said, into a mug that had just seemed to appear, "Can you stop?"

"How do you have--?"

She closed her eyes as she sipped again. "It wasn't just the pastries. After that we tried it out in a few more stores, and... straight record. Also, magic, dumbarse."

"Oh... shit, right." As Piper laughed almost uncontrollably, Jason said, "Almost forgot about that." He reached for the kettle with one hand; Percy caught his other.

Percy said quietly, "You're pretty dumb."

Jason put his tongue in his cheek. "Thanks."

"I love you."

Jason smiled like everything Percy'd ever wanted.

\--

_Hey, so, this is my boyfriend—but you two have met. We've been dating for... a year, I think? Honestly, it could be longer or shorter. But sorry for not telling you. The thought of it made me feel like I was going to vomit._

Was that what he was supposed to say?

God.

"Hey." Jason leaned against the open arch doorway of the library. Percy couldn't read his expression, which must've been done on purpose. Percy pulled himself up a little; he'd been laying on the library sofa, studying a cobweb on the ceiling that pirouetted around in a draft. He'd come up here when his mother'd woken up, not telling anyone he was slipping away, hoping no one would notice. Which was obviously naive, but whatever.

Percy said, "Hey," feeling kind of on edge. Did someone else send Jason, or was Jason just looking for him? That was the fine line here.

Jason crossed the floor. It creaked under his steps. The house really was ancient. When Jason kissed him, his mouth tasted of coffee and was sleepily warm, although it was already noon by then. The schedule of Christmas calmed Percy down and caused a bit of anxiety in him at the same time.

Jason was sitting on the sofa next to him. Percy pushed up onto his knees, closer to Jason, closer, a little closer, tug back the unruly hair above his ear, lift his leg to the other side of his lap--until Jason pushed him away.

"Hey, no," Jason said pointedly. "What's up with you?"

"What d'you mean?"

"Your mum's downstairs," Jason said. His lip was just a little bitten-pink; Percy stared at it helplessly.

"Yeah."

"And you're up here."

"Yeah."

Jason looked semi-amused. That kind of annoyed Percy. Jason asked, "Are you hiding from your mum?"

"...Yeah."

"Why?"

Percy gestured to himself, to Jason, to himself on top of Jason. "I don't know."

"You weren't worried about it before."

"I guess it wasn't real before."

"I can tell her, if you'd like."

" _No_. I wouldn't. Don't."

"Alright." Jason's thumb shifted on Percy's side where his hand was placed. "Just a suggestion."

"I wish we were back at school."

Jason's eyebrows shot up. "Do you?"

Percy considered. "No. That was stupid. No, I don't."

"I'm not saying you have to go down and tell her."

"Yeah," Percy smiled, or half-smiled. "Yeah, I'll just walk into the lounge and be like, 'Hi, everyone, I've got an announcement that's really not big news' "--he faltered--"and, I mean, that's probably because I've already told everyone else, but this is just her, so to be honest it would be better if no one else was here but also you're here which could honestly be good or bad I'm not really sure right now I mean obviously I'm glad you're here you know but it's kind of stressing me out and I think when I'm stressed out I kinda like you know mentally freeze like it's this weird thing where I kind of function normally but not really because I'm kind of absent and it's pretty much only you who notices and Annabeth I mean but I don't really know if--" Jason kissed him.

And Percy kissed him back, but when he finally broke away he said, "You just did that to shut me up."

Jason shrugged. He pulled Percy a little closer, cheek on his shoulder. "You're stressing yourself out."

" _This_  is stressing me out!"

"It'll be fine."

Percy laughed. "Fuck you."

"Only after."

"That was shitty. You're shitty."

" _It'll be fine_."

\--

It was fine.

It was  _fine_ \--so fine that Percy felt like he cared more than his mother did--and when the whole affair was over he felt more than kind of stupid.

It was essentially along the lines of:

Percy:  _So, I've kind of been meaning to tell you this for a while--I mean, like, a long while, I guess--but Jason and I are... together_.

( _Nice word choice, Jackson_ , he told himself in his head immediately after the fact.)

There were approximately two seconds of human silence, the only sound being that of the dinner plates scrubbing themselves clean in the sink. Percy'd waited a good while before telling her, thinking that if it somehow managed to go horribly wrong (which was next to impossible but still a viable outcome to his nerves), then he could go to sleep (read, hide) in his room right after.

The two seconds were just two seconds when Sally said:  _Oh. Well, lovely. Glad you've told me_. (There was something amused in that that Percy couldn't quite decode.) Sally continued by asking:  _How long?_

Percy swallowed. He said,  _Just over a year, I think?_

(He thought,  _a year and two days. Kind of. I do not want to explain that_.)

Sally: _That's just great, Percy. That's wonderful, actually. I always loved Jason, he's so sweet_.

Percy:  _You sound... strangely happy about this_.

Sally:  _Well, you know, not that I have anything against them, but you could've ended up with someone in Slytherin. You know, you spend so much time around them that I thought maybe... but it wouldn't've been bad. You'd be too similar. Just like having two of you. Which I don't think anyone could handle_.

Percy:  _Jason's definitely different from me_.

Sally:  _In a good way_.

(Yes, in a good way.)

So that was that.

And the dishes continued to wash themselves and Percy's heart kept beating and Piper was doing flawlessish impressions in the lounge and Annabeth was laughing and Jason was waiting up in his room.

Sorted, then.


	29. Twenty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the spacing's messed up ik

Percy's head was muddy and warm. Jason's chest slid under his arm, fingertips on his back. Jason's shoulder tasted like sweat. It was quiet.  
"I love sex," Percy said, mumbling, a kind of declaration that made Jason laugh quietly. Percy amended: "And you."  
Jason said, "But mostly sex?"  
"Oh, yeah, obviously. Without contest."  
Percy saw the other side of the bed, the swooping burgundy curtains, in surprising clarity. His throat was dry. He was worried—and worried that he was worried. Also pissed. He thought he was  _over_  this.  
"Hey," he said, but his voice sounded like a garbage disposal. He coughed, mouth closed, cheek against Jason's misty skin, then tried again: "Hey."  
Jason squeezed with his one arm, shuffling Percy around a little. "Yeah?"  
"Do you know who you're signing with yet?"  
"Uh..." Jason sighed heavily, shifting his torso. His ribs popped up when he did that; Percy ducked away. He was getting more on edge by the second, and Jason seemed relaxed. His shoulders kept moving slightly, though, which meant he was actually kind of uncomfortable. He said, "No?"  
"Oh." Percy attempted to re-settle against him, but couldn't help feeling like something was slightly off.  
Jason seemed to think about what he was going to say extensively before saying, "Why d'you ask?"  
Percy rubbed his cheek on Jason's shoulder and scrunched up his face, just a little. "No reason."  
"Lies." Jason's hand snuck around to poke Percy in the cheek, quickly gone.  
"No, really."  
Jason sighed. "Merlin. You're such a girl."  
"That's... sexist."  
"Didn't say anything was wrong with it."  
"It's stereotypes or something."  
"You're just proving me right."  
Percy caught the grin in Jason's voice when he said that and he sat up. "Really?" he asked. Jason was below him, still lying down, naked and grinning like an arsehole. "Really?" Percy continued. " _I'm_  the girl? I'm the—"  
"—That's irrelevant. I'm not a little bitch about everything."  
Percy was smiling, too. "Are we arguing about this? Is that what's happening right now?"  
Jason sat up. "Yeah," he said; his mouth tasted desert-dry and his chapped bottom lip stuck to Percy's for a moment. "And I'm trying to figure out what's wrong."  
"Nothing. It's stupid."  
" _It_?"  
"Shut up."  
" 'It' implies there's something."  
"I will punch you."  
"What's going on?"  
Jason sounded serious enough that Percy quieted. Jason looked expectant. Percy shrugged, then sighed, then said, "I honestly just... I don't know. It's the same stupid shit I was stuck on before."  
Jason tilted his head. "Don't want to hear that." He tapped Percy's temple. "Wanna hear some of this."  
Percy smiled despite himself. He shrugged again.  
Jason said, softly, "Come on." He shook Percy's shoulder, just a little.  
Percy didn't say anything.  
Jason took in a tentative breath. "If you're still thinking about the... future thing," he said, tone playfully conspirative, making the whole thing seem like one lackadaisical joke, "I don't know if this helps"--his smile was a gem--"but I don't think it'll matter much when we're living in London."  
Percy froze. He was about to kiss Jason, but he froze.  
 _When we're what?_  
"London?" he asked, more disbelieving than clarifying.  
Jason looked like he thought Percy was joking. "Uh, yeah. I mean--where else could we go?"  
But Percy only repeated, " _London_?"  
"...What's wrong?"  
"Nothing."  
"Percy."  
"I said  _nothing_."

\--

The following morning, Percy still felt... pissed. Not just because it was a Monday.  
The strangest part was that he didn't quite feel  _angry_. Just--as already said--pissed, in some quiet, simmering way. More like an unsettlement.  
He sat in Muggle Studies and wrote a letter to his mother instead of notes. He'd never send this. It was just cathartic.  
 _Would you mind if I just never did anything after school?_  
 _I don't think I'm having kids._  
 _I don't think it'd matter._  
That was hard to think about. Not the living without doing anything part, he was fine with that, it was the bit after he died. When he hadn't left anything on the planet and the world literally forgot about him as any trace of him was either intentionally erased or faded away over time. It was weird. It was just  _weird_. Because most people--or, they seemed to, as the statistics could be skewed--had children to carry something on. A name. A tradition. Whatever. Percy wasn't sure he wanted to have children, but he  _was_  sure he didn't know what he'd do to support them.  
But  _apparently_  none of that mattered to  _Jason_.  
Seriously.  _London_. London!

\--

"Come to the game with me."  
Percy had yet to look at Piper. He said, "You're on the wrong side."  
She shrugged. "Come to the game with me."  
"You'll get in trouble."  
"Come. To. The. Game. With. Me."  
"Go. Back. To. Your. Seat."  
Piper stared.  
Percy stared.  
Piper raised an eyebrow.  
Percy said, "No."  
"Come on. Why?"  
"Boring."  
"Jason's playing."  
"Yeah? Jason plays, like, every week."  
"Every other week. And you didn't even come last time."  
"Whatever. And I'm  _always_  there."  
"That's why it's weird you're not coming for the second time in a row. What's your excuse?"  
"Do I need one?" He was starting to get annoyed.  
Piper looked at him pointedly. "Last time you were sick."  
"Can you just leave me alone?" Which meant Piper had a point.  
Piper cocked her head. "Are you guys fighting or something?"  
"God, Pipes, no."  
"Y'know, it's kind of weird that you two never fight."  
 _What answer do you want from me?_  
"Guess we got it all out before."

\--

At seven that night, Percy was mostly asleep. Having done nothing since school let out at three than stare at the ceiling in his bedroom and half-attempt a Charms essay, he wasn't exactly buzzing with productivity.  
He woke to the sound of the door of the bedroom slamming open against the wall. At first he thought someone had slammed it shut as they left, but then he remembered that he had been the only person there. So that begged the question, what had changed?  
"Percy?"  
Piper. Damn it.  
"Yeah," he answered, mostly out of habit.  
She yanked open the drapes to Percy's bed, flooding him with sharp light from her wand; he winced and rubbed at his eyes.  
"Get yourself together," she said.  
"What?"  
"Come on."  
"Where are we going?"  
"After party. Jason told me to come get you."  
 _Jesus_. Percy slid out of bed, pulling on socks, then trainers, and finally reaching for a jacket.  
"What if I don't want to go?"  
"We won, so too bad." Piper reached for his wrist and pulled him after her, out the door, through the common room (how did she even get through?) and out into the corridor. She turned back to look at him then. "Seriously," she said. "It'll only be for a bit."

\--

"There you are." Jason's arm around the back of Percy's shoulder and the immediate kiss he received did nothing to improve his mood. In fact, he felt almost instantly stifled. "I feel like I haven't seen you in days."  
"You saw me last night."  
"I know, I know..." Jason leaned back against the wall. He squeezed Percy's shoulder closer. Percy wanted nothing more than to pull back, or to be far away from all these  _people_. Alone, or with Jason. But mostly alone.  
Someone Percy didn't know said something didn't hear, and Jason laughed. Loudly.  
Feeling kind of confused and a little disgusted, Percy asked, "Are you drunk?"  
"Tipsy," Jason corrected.  
"Where did you guys even get alcohol?"  
"I don't  _know_ , Perce. Does it matter? We're all almost legal, anyway."  
This was unusual. Percy didn't know what to do with it.  
Tipsy Jason annoyed him.  
Or maybe, that day,  _Jason_  annoyed him, regardless of any epithets.  
Percy mumbled, "I'm tired. I think I'm gonna go."  
"You just got here."  
"I'm just going to leave, alright?"  
"Oh my God, Percy, please stay." No one was paying attention to them, but Percy still felt like they were. Jason kissed him. He hadn't lost any dexterity—Percy had absolutely no experience with alcohol, so he didn't know what was really supposed to be happening, or if this  _was_  what was supposed to be happening. "You've ignored me for, like, a  _week_."  
"It's been a day."  
"Felt longer."  
Percy felt out of place, like he'd fallen asleep somewhere else and just woken up in the Gryffindor common room.  
Jason smudged a thumb over Percy's cheek. "Are you mad at me?"

"No."

"Yeah, you are. Oh, fuck. What did I do?"

Percy wanted to duck out from under Jason's arm, but that would just concern him more.  Percy  _really_  just didn't want to be touched right then.  
Jason's volume dropped, just a bit.  "Hey, if you want to talk, I'm listening." His hand was a little stiffer on Percy's shoulder, the bones in his wrist touching the back of Percy's neck.

Percy finally pulled away before realizing he was moving. "Jason--can you  _please_  just not fucking touch me?"

Jason looked taken aback. Percy had spoken both louder and more venomous than he'd meant to.

"Jesus, Perce," Jason said. "Set phasers to stun, yeah?"  
"I--I don't--I'm sorry.  I don't know what that means."

Jason leaned his back into the wall and scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck.  "Can we talk?"  
Percy nodded.

"Like, somewhere else?"  
Percy nodded a second time.  He followed Jason out of the room.

\--

They tried the bedroom, but there were people.  There were people in the corridor, too, and they couldn't stray too far from Gryffindor tower this late at night when Jason was basically incapable of being anything close to quiet. Percy felt along the walls for a good bit, eventually finding the door to what he thought was a closet that he could push open without much trouble. Inside was actually a little reading room, cramped with bookshelves and containing an impossibly large chair and an impossibly small desk. There was a wide sill below a substantial window, bathed in dwindling sunlight although it was already far too dark outside, with drizzle softly plinking against the glass.  
It was by far not the strangest thing Percy had encountered in the school.  He shut the door behind them.

Jason fell back into the chair, immediately making himself at home.  Percy took a tentative seat on the windowsill.

"Are you pissed at me?"

"No."  
"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm kind of just pissed at myself."  
"Why?"  
"Do I have to want to talk about it?"  
Jason shrugged.  
"Then I don't want to talk about it."  
"Grand. What should I do?"

"What do you mean?"  
"Like, how do I help? If I can."  
Percy sighed. "I don't know. It's kind of just my problem."  
"Well, yeah, but..."  
"But what?"  
"I don't know." Jason sat forward. "I don't know much of anything, really, Percy. Did you know this is the first time I've ever had alcohol? Isn't that fantastic?"  
"Do you mean like, sarcastic fantastic, or--?"  
"--I mean like, I didn't know a pint could do this much to a man! I mean like, it's just hitting me now, Perce. This is so  _strange_. I get why my mother drank, which, you know, terrifies me beyond belief and I think all the time about how I'm one night away from spiraling into a complete state of crippling addiction like her because isn't it in my genes or something? Oh God. Oh,  _fuck_."  
"You had one pint."  
"I  _know_!"  
"You don't ever have to drink again."  
"For- _fucking_ -sakenness."

"It was  _one time_. Are you alright?"

"Top shelf. Come here. Please."  
Percy did. He wouldn't have thought that the armchair was big enough for both of them, but by the time he approached it seemed like it had always been so. He sat down next to Jason with ease; Jason pulled Percy's legs up over his lap. He said, "You don't ever have to come to my games."  
"Shut up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look it just gets more angsty from here but not rly angsty just a little angsty and then it's happy again and then it will be OVER because that's right i'm almost done y'all thought i wouldn't finish but here i am


End file.
